


No Rest

by patchfire, raving_liberal



Series: Story of Three Boys [32]
Category: Glee
Genre: Brothership, Gen, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-21
Updated: 2011-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-26 09:26:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchfire/pseuds/patchfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raving_liberal/pseuds/raving_liberal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New year, same old stuff, and never enough time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teaser

Finn hears the thump of luggage on the stairs and glances up as Puck and Kurt pass by his doorway, hauling bags and suitcases behind them. They don’t look into his room, don’t even seem to notice that he’s there, as they dump the bags in Kurt’s room and head back downstairs.

He hears them pause in the hallway on their way back up, but something tells him not to interrupt. Finn doesn’t usually listen to his instinct, because it can be kind of hard to hear over everything else, but he has a sense that Puck and Kurt are having a hard time with re-entry into Lima after Chicago. He can’t blame them.

Finn can hear the soft murmuring of voices in the hallway and even without hearing the words, Finn knows that he’s hearing sadness. He doesn’t know how Kurt and Puck handle it, all the hiding, the secrecy. Finn sees it taking a little more out of them every day, and he thought Chicago might be a great break from that. Now he realizes that what it probably did was make the hiding that much harder.

There’s not any kind of solution for it, not in Lima. Finn knows why Puck can’t come out. He knows why they have to hide. He doesn’t like it, doesn’t like that it has to be that way, but Finn can’t deny the truth that it _is_ that way. He sees it in Kurt’s face every day. He sees it in Casey’s. The PFLAG meetings are probably full of kids who are hiding something, because what other choice do they have.

The world really sucks and Finn Hudson can’t do shit about it.

 

Santana’s suspected for a long time that Puck either knows how to hold his liquor _really_ well, or he doesn’t really drink as much as people think he does, because he always seems to remember parties much more clearly than almost anyone else. When he traipses into her New Year’s Eve party and asks for a beer–and seriously, Stella Artois?–while Finn and Kurt have whiskey, she _knows_.

And damn if Kurt Hummel with some whiskey in him isn’t kind of fun? But then he apparently decides that Puck needs to actually drink, not just a beer, and by the time everyone’s getting ready to crash for the night, it’s Puck that’s sloshed, though not as bad as Hudson. Santana laughs to herself.

Hudson totally ripped into Berry–in vino veritas, or in rum veritas, anyway. Too bad neither of them will remember it; too bad, too, that Santana didn’t think to record it for posterity (or Facebook posting; either would do).

The whole club is fucking amusing. Artie and Mindy seem to be in some sort of competition with Mike and Tina to see which couple can make out the most like it’s the last night on earth, maybe. Sam keeps leering at Mercedes and then blushing, while she makes eyes at him and keeps beckoning him closer before scooting away, laughing. Quinn just glares drunkenly at all of them, which isn’t, Santana has to admit, all that different from when she’s not drunk, not lately.

When everyone else is passed out or asleep, Santana pops open another beer and sits down on an abandoned sofa, scanning the room as she drinks. Brittany’s claimed another sofa, stretching across all of it, and Santana thinks that she’ll probably go over there, once she’s done with her beer and ready to sleep. Ready to stretch out behind her girl, just like most of the guys. Sam with Mercedes, Artie with Mindy, Mike with Tina. Quinn with no one, Rachel slumped in a recliner, and then Snap, Crackle, and Pop all on a bed together. Santana snorts.

It says something, she thinks as she crawls behind Brittany, but she’s not sure exactly what.


	2. Episode 3x15

When Kurt emerges from the bathroom cleanshaven, Puck’s done a passable job of unpacking, most of it jumbled on Kurt’s bed. Neither of them speak; Kurt leans over and kisses Puck rather thoroughly before turning to the task of getting dressed. He puts on purple jeans and a silver shirt with black boots, and then grabs the scarf Puck gave him and ties it around his neck. “Ready?”

Puck nods and stands, wrapping his body around Kurt in a way that makes walking somewhat awkward, but Kurt relaxes into it and they manage to make their way to Finn’s doorway. Puck leans against the wall and Kurt leans against Puck’s arm as he raps on the other side of the doorway. “Time to party,” he says lightly.

“Hey, guys,” Finn answers, looking at them a little oddly, then blinking and shaking his head. “Oh, holy shit!”

“We’ve got clothes on, dude,” Puck says wearily.

“Dude, the _hawk_!” Finn’s eyes are huge, his eyebrows up at his hairline.

“Oh, right.” Puck shrugs. “I kinda forgot.”

“How do you forget something like that?” Finn says and he’s pretty much gaping at Puck, opening and closing his mouth before he finally asks, “Did something _happen_ to it in Chicago? Like, an accident or something?”

Puck snorts. “No. It was just, you know. Time.” He shrugs again.

“I didn’t know those things expired,” Finn says, shaking his head. “Now I’m gonna have to get used to you being bald all over again.”

“I’m not bald,” Puck protests. “There’s hair there. It’s just really short hair.”

“It’s true,” Kurt nods, reaching behind him and running his hand over Puck’s head. “It’s kind of soft.”

“You’re bald compared to me and Kurt,” Finn says. “I hope you’ve got a hat, because your head is gonna get really cold. You guys ready?”

“He has a hat,” Kurt says, and even though Puck can’t see his face, he’s pretty sure Kurt’s rolling his eyes.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“You guys ok?” Finn asks Kurt, lowering his voice, possibly with the intent of Puck not overhearing him, which obviously didn’t work if that’s his goal.

“Peachy,” Kurt replies as they step back into the hall, leaving the doorway for Finn to exit. “You?”

“It’s been a weird break,” Finn answers. “Mostly good-weird. Some weird-weird.” He trails after Kurt down the stairs.

“Weird-weird? Like what?” Puck asks.

“Lots of Jewishness, dude. Also, that thing we don’t talk about, right, Kurt?” Finn visible shudders. “Weirdness.”

“I’m not sure if I should be offended,” Puck snorts, voice deadpan. “‘Cause I’m pretty sure you just said that Jewish stuff was weird.”

“Dude, you’ve never spend Hanukkah with the Berrys,” Finn explains. “They aren’t Jewish like you’re Jewish. They’re, like, _Jewish_. No bacon and their songs aren’t even in English!”

Puck chuckles. “Yeah, they’re a little more observant. Probably closer to conservative than reform, but you know. Not a lot of Jews to choose from in this town.” They climb in the Nav and Kurt turns the heater up. “I think this seat has molded to my ass.”

“You and the seat, man,” Finn snorts. “You’re both obsessed with ass.”

“Nah, the seat’s not. Ass is just, like, its job.”

“That’s a hell of a job. ‘What do you do for a living?’ ‘Oh, you know, _ass_.’”

“On the other hand, maybe I want that job.”

“Duuuude,” Finn groans. “Uncool, Puckerman. Seriously.”

“You set it up, man, I just spiked it.” Puck turns in the seat slightly and grins. “Right, K?”

“I wasn’t listening,” Kurt answers, a little too quickly, and Puck laughs.

“So, you guys bring me anything?” Finn asks, possibly to change to subject, though he’s also notoriously greedy about souvenirs.

“We brought ourselves back to this sparkling town,” Kurt says, false brightness in his voice. “And a shot glass. You can start a collection.”

“I’ll take the shot glass as a win. You guys aren’t here for keeps, so that doesn’t count.”

“Seven months is a long time.”

“Seven months is nothing. Even, like, _babies_ take longer than that,” Finn snorts. “You’ll be gone in no time.”

Puck doesn’t answer, because there’s really nothing to say to that, and luckily, Kurt parks in front of Santana’s at the same time. “Here we are,” Kurt says with a tiny sigh. “Ready to partake of beverages that are technically illegal for us to consume?”

“Did you bring the shot glass with you?” Finn asks.

Puck just snorts back a laugh and opens up the console, tossing the bag to Finn. “Have fun, dude.”

“Awesome!” Finn shouts, forgetting his own volume...again. “I will take all my drinks in it all night. Best brothers ever, you guys.”

“Finn, we’re right here,” Kurt says mildly, climbing out of the Nav and checking his appearance in the rearview mirror.

“Party!” Finn shouts, raising his shot glass in the air. “Let’s get our tiny drink on!”

“Did you pre-drink?” Puck can’t help but ask as they walk up to the door.

“I’m practicing raising my glass, dude,” Finn explains. “But one of you guys is gonna have to loan me the jeans.”

“Then it would be ‘raise your glass to get in my capri jeans,’” Kurt points out. “Since your inseam is probably a good four or five inches longer than ours.” He knocks heavily on the door and leans against the wall under the light, and if it weren’t for the cold, Puck would be all right with just watching him like that for awhile.

“None of my jeans are tight enough to count as skin-tight jeans, though,” Finn argues, as the door swings open to reveal Tina and Mercedes.

“Boys!” Tina cheers, and Puck is pretty sure that means she’s already had at least one drink. “‘Cedes, there are the boys!”

“Here we are,” Puck agrees.

“Why do you need skin-tight jeans?” Mercedes says to Finn, ignoring Tina completely.

“To go with my glass,” Finn answers, shaking his head at Mercedes like he’s shocked she doesn’t understand that. He holds his shot glass up to indicate. “For when I _raise_ it.”

Mercedes shakes her head. “Hey, where’d you get that?”

Finn freezes for a second, then says, “My aunt left it to me in her will.”

Kurt appears to be turning purple, though not quite the same shade as his pants or scarf, and he pushes himself off the wall and through the door. “Regular Scrooge, your aunt. One shot glass and nothing else.”

Puck follows Kurt inside, looking around to see who’s there and not. “Are we the last ones here?”

“Yep!” Tina answers him, still beaming.

Artie rolls up to the door with his red-headed girlfriend draped across his lap. Her skirt is strip-club short and she’s wearing one knee-length striped sock and one prosthetic leg, not on the same side, and is holding an orange shoe that doesn’t look like it would fit her. “‘Zup, Artie’s dude-friends?” she nods.

“Party time!” Artie sort of hoots, rolling his chair back and forth and bouncing his girl around. She cackles and whacks him with the shoe.

“Sup,” Puck nods at Artie. “Lopez got any of the good stuff?”

“I didn’t even know rum came in that many flavors, yo,” Artie says, shaking his head. “It’s like being in the islands.”

“Hear that?” Puck throws his arms around Finn and Kurt both. “Let’s go get your drink on, boys.”

“I came prepared,” Finn says, holding up his shot glass for Artie to see.

“You’re a real Boy Scout,” Kurt agrees.

“Coats!” Tina bubbles out, leading the way to a pile of jackets, and they divest themselves of their outerwear. Puck’s jamming his hat into his pocket when Tina squeals. “Oh my god! PUCK!” which naturally causes half the people in the room to turn around and stare at him.

“Did you have another freckle?” Artie asks.

“Yeah, it’s all the summer sun this time of year,” Puck says dryly, shaking his head in contradiction of his words.

“You going for a month of normalcy?” Mercedes asks.

“I think it looks nice!” Rachel pipes up, and Puck blinks, wondering where she came from.

“What looks nice?” Quinn asks from the background, already looking slightly unsteady on her feet.

“Puck!” Tina answers. “And his hair. Or his head.” She tilts her head and looks confused, and Puck wonders just how much she’s already had.

“Puck doesn’t have any hair,” Brittany says, poking her head into the room. “He has a head, though. I think.” She blinks her eyes rapidly, like a bird. “He looks like he has a head.”

“Are _any_ of the girls still sober?” Kurt asks dryly.

“I’m totally sober,” Brittany says, looking at Kurt with an even more confused than usual expression on her face. “I only just got here.”

“I wish my hair inspired such a reaction,” Sam speaks up. “Maybe go for a shape shaved into it next time.”

“I’ll pass.” Puck finally makes his way over to where Santana is surveying her liquor with unabashed pride. “Jack and Coke, Pete’s Strawberry Blonde, and a shot of Jack in Finn’s tiny glass.”

Santana snorts. “Finn’s drinking?”

“I will drink it all from my tiny glass,” Finn says, somberly, coming up next to Puck. “First I’ll raise it, then I’ll drink it.” He shows Santana his shot glass.

“Good for you,” she nods, pouring the whiskey into it, then pushing the other two drinks towards Puck. “Enjoy, boys.”

“Of course,” Puck nods, handing the cup to Kurt and taking a long drink from the bottle. Finn tosses back his shot, shakes his head rapidly, and holds it back out to Santana, with what’s probably meant to be a charming grin.

She just shakes her head a little and refills it. “We haven’t seen a drunk Finn, have we?” she muses.

“Nope,” Puck agrees. “Nor a drunk Kurt.”

“Ms. Pillsbury has,” Kurt points out after swallowing a gulp of his drink. “I don’t think she enjoyed the experience.”

“Hit me!” Finn says, holding out his shot glass again. “Not really hit me, though. Just put more alcohol in my tiny glass, please.”

“Damn,” Santana grumbles. “I thought I’d finally get my chance.” She refills the shot glass again, though. “Where’d you get that?”

“Found it in the pocket of a coat I bought at the Goodwill,” Finn says, slamming the shot.

“Does that make the Nav a coat?” Kurt whispers to Puck, who suppresses a laugh.

“That console’s more annoying than a pocket,” Puck points out, and Kurt considers that for a second before nodding and taking another drink.

“Can you just hand me the whole bottle of that?” Finn asks, pointing to a bottle of pineapple-flavored rum. “And a glass with some ice in it?”

“Yes.” Santana slides the mentioned items towards him. “Anything else?”

“Do you have any of those cherries?”

“Are you going to tie the stem in a knot?”

Finn just looks at her blankly. “I was going to put it in the glass to make the booze prettier so Rachel will drink it. _Should_ I tie the stems in knots first?”

“She means with your tongue,” Puck says.

“Ooh! I can do that.” Kurt beams. “Can I have another one, Santana?”

“Why would I want to tie the stem in a knot with my tongue?” Finn asks. “Is that a thing? What’s that supposed to OH! Oh, right. Ok. Yeah, I’m gonna just take this over there, then.” Balancing the bottle, glass, and shotglass, he navigates towards Rachel, shooting Santana a dirty look over his shoulder.

Santana makes another Jack and Coke and hands it to Kurt, who smiles at her before turning to scan the room. “Hmm. No spin the bottle. Already an improvement.”

Quinn lurches into Puck’s line of sight. “So is this going to be a thing? All the highlights of sophomore year, starting with the hair?”

Puck raises his eyebrows and exhales loudly. Part of him wants to let Kurt loose on her again, but Kurt’s eyes are a little brighter and his cheeks a little rosier, so Puck’s not sure what would come out of Kurt’s mouth, actually. “Quinn.” Puck nods in her direction and turns to Kurt. “I’m sure Rachel would be happy to organize a game if you were missing it.” His hand visibly jerks and he shoves it into his pocket, aggravated.

“Nooo,” Kurt shakes his head. “It’s all better this way.”

“All better?” Puck repeats, amused. “Okay, if you say so.”

Quinn blinks slowly at the abrupt dismissal and then staggers away to cling to Brittany, who already has her sweater off and tied around her neck like a super-hero cape while she does some sort of backbend over the coffee table.

“Your girlfriend’s very flexible,” Kurt says clinically to Santana. “I bet you enjoy that.” He looks sort of startled that those words escaped his mouth.

“I do,” Santana agrees, grinning wickedly. “What about your boyfriend?” she asks, fixing her gaze on Puck.

“Oh, I have _no_ complaints,” Kurt says with a smug smile. “In fact–”

“–you should stop talking,” Puck interrupts. “C’mon. Let’s go watch Finn get drunk.” He sets his empty bottle on the counter and puts his hands deep in his pockets.

“Okay,” Kurt agrees, and they wander over to where Finn is telling Rachel a story that might involve a lot of explosions, based on Finn’s excited gesturing. Finn pauses every few sentences to slosh more pineapple rum into his shot glass.

“Did you see my shot glass?” Finn holds it out for Rachel to look at. “It was a gift with purchase with a set of tires.”

“I thought you said it was actually an old candleholder,” Rachel responds, puzzled.

“Naw, naw,” Finn says, waving his hand in her direction. “That was _another_ shot glass.”

“Finn’s smuggling shot glasses!” Tina bursts out, seemingly addressing Mike, but loud enough to include all of them. “That’s SO COOL.”

“Shhhh,” Finn cautions, with an elaborate twist of his hand up to his lips to indicate silence. “We’ll have the law all over us.”

Puck laughs as he and Kurt sit nearby, and then makes a face as he realizes not only are his hands no longer in his pockets, he has one arm halfway up and around Kurt. He sighs and slumps against the back of the couch they’ve landed on.

“How many shots have you had, Finn?” Kurt asks.

“Thirty-seven.”

“Shouldn’t he be, I don’t know. Dead?” Kurt asks, turning to Puck.

“Probably,” Puck agrees, nodding. “I guess he’s had enough to not know how many he’s had.”

“All of them!” Finn calls out, joyfully. “In my tiny glass!”

Puck looks around the room as people laugh. Santana has abandoned the liquor at last, cuddling with Brittany; Quinn is slumping into a chair in such a way that makes Puck thinks she’s not far from passing out; the happy hetero couples are are all cuddling or kissing. Then there’s he and Kurt. Kurt looks like he nearly always does in Lima; a little on edge, a little tense, a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Puck can’t see himself, but he feels tense and even a little bit angry, even though logically he knows there’s no reason for that.

He must look how he feels, though, or at least a little bit, because Kurt turns to look at him for a moment, head tilted, and then murmurs “I’ll be right back.” When Kurt comes back, he’s holding a cup and a bottle of whiskey, and he sets them in front of Puck. “I think you need this more than I do.”

“I think we _both_ need it,” Puck argues quietly.

“Probably,” Kurt admits, a shaky smile on his lips. “But I don’t think either of us is going to feel comfortable with both of us being drunk at the same time until we’re in a nice little studio on the Upper West Side.” He pours a generous amount of whiskey into the cup and presses it into Puck’s hand. “So for the moment, it’s going to be you.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Yes.”

Puck should probably embarrassed with how quickly he downs the entire contents of the cup, and he vaguely notes Kurt refilling it, though not as full as before, and he downs that, too. The room is sort of tilting, and Kurt’s face is going from really far away to really close, so Puck waves off Kurt’s offer to refill it again. “Mmgood.”

“Okay, baby.” Kurt’s voice is really soft, but then a loud voice intrudes on Puck’s mind.

 

Finn is drunk enough that he’s no longer quite sure how drunk he actually is or how he came to be that way. His mouth tastes like pineapples and now he legitimately doesn’t remember where the Chicago shot glass he’s holding came from. Rachel’s snuggled next to him in one of Santana’s oversized chairs, and he’s feeling...well, not as fine as he hoped he’d feel.

“It’s fun to do this again,” Rachel says, nuzzling her face into his arm.

“Do what?” Finn asks, trying to make sense of what she’s saying, so he can give the right answer. His brain’s full of a lot of what Finn suspects are _wrong_ answers and he doesn’t want those to fall out of his mouth.

“Drink together, silly!” Rachel giggles.

“We didn’t,” Finn says, turning to look at her. “I mean, before, we didn’t ever. I didn’t get drunk then. I’m not drunk _now_ and I never did get drunk then. That was you.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Rachel squeals, and dissolved into another fit of giggling. “You were so _mean_ to me. You said I was a clingy girl drunk.” She grips him by the shirt and presses her lips to his ear. “Guess you don’t mind so much now.”

Finn jerks away and shakes her off of him. “What do you want from me?” he asks, before he can stop the words from coming out of his mouth. Rachel looks at him like she thinks he’s playing, and he considers a) just going with that and b) chasing it with another couple of shots so he doesn’t have to remember tomorrow. Instead, he says, “Am I just your practice guy or something?”

Shit, this is that filters thing he and Kurt were talking about that one time, isn’t it? He stands and instantly regrets it when the room starts to sway alarmingly.

Rachel’s drunk, but probably nowhere near as drunk as Finn. “Practice guy? Finn, I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Come back over here.” She tries to pull him back down next to her. “Sit down before you fall over.” Finn can’t argue with that logic, because he’s actually already falling over. He lands roughly in the chair. “Now tell me what you’re talking about,” Rachel demands.

“You,” Finn says, pointing at her and fighting the urge to actually shake his finger in her face. The urge is pretty strong and it’s a tough fight. “ _You_! What does this even mean to you? What do I even mean to you?” Rachel looks alarmed, but Finn’s going now and he can’t stop himself. It’s like his mouth is moving without him controlling it, words slurring and spilling out of him. The last rational part of his brain is watching him and screaming, _stop it! stop it!_ but that part’s so doused with pineapple rum that none of the rest of him is listening to it anyway.

“One minute it’s all ‘I can’t wait for New York’ and then there’s all this pink lingerie and potato pancakes with your dads like I mean something to you, when we both know I’m just a...a...one of those things you use to get you from one thing to the next thing. Like a rest stop or whatever. I’m just your rest stop between here and your awesome New York life.”

“Finn,” Rachel says, sounding a little frantic. “Finn, no. It’s not like that at all.” She tries to catch him by the front of his shirt, but he’s still gesticulating wildly, and he won’t be swayed.

“And I’ll keep on being your rest stop because I _love_ you and that’s all I know how to do, just be people’s thing they hang out with until they leave and go get something better,” Finn continues to rant, and people are looking in his direction now, some of them disinterestedly because they’re all drunk, too, but some with actual concern. Finn allows himself the luxury of shaking his finger at Rachel. “And I just want you to know that I _know_. I know what I am. I know you think I’m stupid, big dumb Finn, oh, he probably won’t even _notice_ that everybody’s abandoning him for some city that’s too good for him. But I _know_. I know you and I’m not stupid and I _know_. When I get thrown away, I’m gonna notice, and I’m gonna let you do it anyway, because I love you.”

With that, he picks up the bottle of pineapple rum and just takes a deep swig from it. Rachel sits in the chair next to him silently, tear tracks on her face. Finn’s too drunk to even care about comforting her. He’s too drunk to notice he’s crying, too.

 

Puck isn’t totally sure what Finn’s yelling about, and sometimes it sounds more like a loud whisper than yelling, which doesn’t make sense. A very small portion of Puck’s brain remembers that this is why he usually doesn’t get as drunk as he acts. Something about New York and being abandoned and the take-home message is that Finn thinks it sucks.

Right.

Puck slumps against the couch and decides that maybe he was wrong earlier; more whiskey suddenly sounds like a good idea, and he waves his hand in the direction of his cup. “Kurt?”

There’s a hand on his forearm, and Puck closes his eyes, relishing the fact that even drunk off his ass, he recognizes Kurt’s hand. He can smell Kurt, too, and he smiles a little as Kurt starts to speak. “What do you need?”

“More.”

“Okay.” Kurt’s voice gets louder and then quieter just during the one word, but it’s gentle and fills Puck’s ears and the whole point is to pretend for another night. He remembers that, despite all the alcohol sloshing around in his brain. Pretend. He takes the drink from Kurt and gulps it down, ignoring the burn, and looks around the room.

“Anyone so-sob... not drunk?”

“Mmm. Me. I’m still a little bit buzzed but nothing spectacular. I may have a beer in a few minutes. Santana, surprisingly. Same thing–she’s buzzed.”

“New year?”

“Not yet.” Kurt’s hand smooths along his scalp and Puck has a bizarre image of himself as a cat for a moment. “Besides, do you think I’d let you ring in the new year without a proper kiss?”

Puck grins. “I like that.”

“Yeah, I know you do, baby,” Kurt says, and this time his mouth is right next to Puck’s ear. Everyone else must be really drunk, too. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

Puck nods and closes his eyes again, listening to Kurt’s footsteps as they go away from him. He hears a bottle open and then Kurt’s footsteps approach near him again. “Finn?” Kurt says, and Puck’s not sure if it’s loud or not.

“Lemme ‘lone,” Finn mumbles, swatting at Kurt’s hand. “Just leave me here.”

“Not that easy to get rid of!” Kurt’s voice sounds really chipper, and there’s a pause, so Puck cracks his eyes open to see Kurt taking a drink from a bottle of beer. “You’re going to pass out soon and get a crick in your neck and then you’ll want a massage but really there just aren’t that many massage therapists in Lima, much less any that will give you a massage on New Year’s Day. Really, Finn.”

“What?” Finn peers blearily up at Kurt. “What are you saying and why are you saying so much of it?”

“Your _neck_ , Finn,” and Puck would laugh at Kurt’s enthusiasm if he weren’t convinced that it would make the world spin. A lot.

“Whattabout my neck?” Finn asks, slurring through the first words but over-emphasising the crisp ‘k’ at the end of ‘neck.’

“You’re going to _break_ it. Or something. You need to lie down.” Kurt must’ve been talking with Santana or gesturing or something, because he seems very certain of where Finn should go. “On a bed. A nice fluffy bed without your rum.” Kurt sniffs the bottle. “Nice smelling rum, but this beer is nice too.”

“Don’t drink that,” Finn warns, looking pitiful. “It makes people leave you.” He tries to lie down across the chair, but Rachel’s in the way, eyes still red and watery, and even with lots of flopping, he can’t seem to get comfortable. “Ok, bossofme, I will the bed. Go to it. The bed. Go to it the bed.”

“Excellent!” Kurt makes some kind of movement that is probably supposed to be helping Finn up, but it’s really funny to look at because Kurt is so small next to Finn and Puck just giggles.

Once Finn’s on his feet, he sways dangerously and his face turns white. “I don’ feel so good,” he says to Kurt, in a tiny voice. “Kurt?”

“Toilet?” Kurt asks, voice alarmed, and now he’s stepping back from Finn in what appears to be a rapid manner. Finn nods and puts his hand over his mouth, looking frantic and confused. “That way!” Kurt points frantically, and he gives Finn’s back a tiny push. “Not on me! Not on Puck, either!” he adds when Finn’s first unsteady step is more towards Puck and less towards the bathroom.

“Nooo,” Puck agrees, sitting up unsteadily. “No pukies.”

Finn manages to lurch in the right direction of the bathroom and the sound of loud puking follows shortly after, interspersed with equally loud sobs. “Water.” Puck pronounces.

“Oh, good idea!” Kurt finishes his beer and prances over to the bar area, pulling out six water bottles. He drops two in Puck’s lap and then knocks on the bathroom door. “Finny! Water!”

Kurt is answered by one more round of loud puking and sobbing noises, then a flush, followed by the sound of water running. A pale, droopy, shaky Finn appears in the doorway shortly after. He tries and fails to muster a smile for Kurt, and instead just leans against the door. Kurt opens one of the remaining water bottle and hands it to Finn with what looks like a blinding smile from Puck’s vantage point.

Finn takes a cautious sip of the water, then quickly downs the whole bottle. He looks a little better, but when he starts to walk, his knees buckle a little and he almost knocks Kurt down with him before he manages to catch himself against the wall. “Sorry!” he mumbles, trying straighten out Kurt’s clothing. “I’m sooooo sorry!”

“It’s fine. You’re fine. We’re all fine!” Kurt’s voice has a little edge to it now, and Puck decides it’s a good time to attempt to stand up. “You need to lie down.”

Finn nods obediently and starts to sniffle, like a little kid who’s about to cry. His lip trembles. “You’re the very best brother to me,” Finn slurs, his lip trembling. “You’re so nice to me all’a the time, just very very really nice.”

“Yes, yes,” Kurt says calmly, patting Finn’s back while he tries to juggle the remaining water bottles in his arm. “You’re an excellent waffle, Finn.” Puck manages to stagger to his feet, cradling his own water bottles, and walks towards them.

“And you’re my pancake,” Finn answers, his words slow, starting to cry. “And Puck’s, like, our French toast. You guys, you guys, you’re like, you’re my best ones, you know? My best ones.” Big, fat tears roll down Finn’s cheek and he flings one awkward arm around Puck, using the other one to continue propping himself against the wall.

“Dude,” Puck drags out. “I don’t wanna be. Eggy. Covered in eggs. Not a good mess.” He shakes his head and then winces. “Water.” He opens one of the water bottles and drinks it down, discarding the empty bottle on the floor. “Bed, K?”

“That way,” Kurt says, pushing lightly on Puck’s back and Finn’s as well, then walking in front of them. “A nice big bed.”

“I like a bed,” Finn mutters, allowing himself to be steered into a guest bedroom. As he tries to climb up onto the bed, he pauses and grips Kurt by the shoulders. “Don’t let Rachel leave, ok?”

“Oh, Finn,” Kurt murmurs, and Puck can hear the sadness in his voice. “We love you, too. Best six months younger little brother we could have.” Then his voice changes. “Drink your other water before you pass out.”

Finn shakes himself like a puppy and seems to latch onto the other water bottle as the focus of his attention. “Water,” he agrees, before tipping up the bottle and drinking it down in one long go. “Ok. Bed.” His body seems to go limp and he just crumples onto the bed. “Love you guys.” His eyes are closed before he even gets all the words out.

“S’almost midnight,” Kurt turns to Puck. “You want to stay here?”

Puck nods and sits on the edge of the bed opposite Finn. “Happy 2012, right?”

“Right.” Kurt drinks his own water bottles, one right after the other, and then grabs Puck’s hand. “Seven months, baby.”

“Mmm. Yeah.” They sit in silence until the clock in the room trips over to midnight, and there’s a few scattered shouts back in the main room. Kurt closes the small distance between them, his lips already parted, and Puck can taste beer and Coke and whiskey under his tongue, masking Kurt’s taste slightly. The kiss is sweet and too short, even though the part of Puck’s brain that is growing a little more sober knows that they can’t do anything even if he weren’t drunk beyond capability.

“You want to crash now too?” Kurt asks when they separate, and Puck nods. Kurt pushes Finn farther over and lies down next to Finn, pulling Puck close. Puck lets his eyes close and listens to the sound of Kurt’s even, steady breaths mingled with Finn’s almost-snores.

Happy new year.

 

The first thing Puck notices when he wakes up is that he smells something cooking, or maybe burning. The second thing he notices is that his head is pounding. The third thing is that someone is nearby laughing.

“They’re so cute,” an almost-familiar voice says, and Puck can’t quite place it. “All three of them, cuddled together.”

So the fourth thing Puck notices is that he’s wrapped up in Kurt’s arms, but there’s a longer, heavier arm flung over both of them. Probably Finn, from what Puck can remember from the night before. He tries to figure out what that means. They were all on the same bed. Kurt’s pressed tightly against him from behind; no surprise there. Finn’s arms are long, so they aren’t necessarily all three all snuggled together... but they probably are.

“Wha?” Finn groans, and the arm moves. “WherethefuckamI?” he grumbles in one long word. “What the? Oh, hey Kurt.”

“Mmmrrfff?” Kurt’s face is buried in Puck’s neck.

“Where are we?” Finn asks again. “Why does my mouth taste like sunscreen?”

“Rum,” Puck grumbles. “Don’t talk so loud.”

“Puck?” Finn says. “Why are you in my bed?”

There’s a giggle from the doorway. “You’re still at Santana’s house,” Tina’s voice explains.

“What?” Finn tries to sit up in the bed and groans. “Oh, god, I feel like crap.”

“You looked pretty cozy,” Mike says mildly.

“It’s okay in a three-way,” Artie quips. “Don’t worry.”

“There was a three-way?” Finn asks, honestly puzzled.

“Think he means us, dude,” Puck groans. “Water?”

Artie snort a laugh and Finn rolls his eyes, making a pained little noise as he does so. “ _Dude_. Kurt’s my _brother_.”

“S’k’ffle,” Kurt mutters. “So bright.”

“All of you go away,” Finn demands. “Shut the door behind you. Only, Tina, no, somebody quieter. Brittany. Come back with some Tylenol or something. Water. Sledgehammer or something.”

“More beer?” Kurt offers.

Finn makes a pitiful moan. “Don’t even talk about alcohol. I think I died of alcohol poisoning last night.”

“Still here,” Puck points out, stretching a little as Brittany returns with a handful of Advil and a pitcher of water. “Not dead yet.”

“No. I’m dead,” Finn insists. “I’m dead and this is hell. This is hell and for some reason you guys are all here, too.”

“‘M offended,” Kurt responds, propping himself up on one elbow to swallow an Advil. “I’m not part of anyone’s hell.”

“No,” Puck agrees, sitting up reluctantly and gulping down some water. “Sorry, Finn. Still alive. With hangover.”

“Dammit,” Finn says, holding his palm out for Advil and then swiping Puck’s water by leaning across Kurt.

“Still in Lima,” Puck finishes morosely.

“I think I might have to puke,” Finn says. “Or die. Why did I think this was a good idea?”

“Alcohol is surprisingly tasty?” Kurt offers, leaning against Puck. “Just don’t puke on me.”

“Maybe I don’t really need to puke,” Finn suggests. “Maybe I can just move very, very slowly. Like that old TV show, you know, the one with the noise when the guy moves. Only without the noise.”

“I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about,” Puck pronounces. “And I think someone’s attempting to cook food out there.”

“I like food. Maybe,” Kurt qualifies. “Brunch food. Let’s go out to brunch in March, okay?”

“Sure, blue eyes,” Puck agrees, slowly trying to stand.

“Yeah, you guys are fucking adorable and all,” Finn says, “but can you stop talking about food, please?” He doesn’t even try to stand up again. “Maybe bring me back some toast.”

“Right,” Kurt agrees, standing up beside Puck. “I want bacon. Sorry, Finn.” Puck follows him to the doorway.

“Duuuude,” Finn whines after him.

Puck musters up a grin as they stumble into the main room, where there is in fact, bacon, toast, and french toast sticks and other food. “Coffee?” he asks, and Santana points with a half-grin. “Goddess,” he nods his head at her, and then briefly thinks that maybe he’s adopting more of Kurt’s mannerisms than he’s realized.

They both grab large cups of coffee and then pile their plates with food, Kurt adding three pieces of toast to the top of his pile as they shuffle back to where they left Finn. “Toast!” Kurt announces as they step into the room.

“Bless you,” Finn mumbles, accepting the toast and nibbling it experimentally. “Ok, I think I’m not gonna die.”

“We were worried,” Puck deadpans, folding up a piece of bacon and stuffing it all into his mouth at once.

“Terribly,” Kurt agrees, stabbing something that’s probably an omelet with a fork.

 

Santana does not, in fact, kick everyone out at noon; instead she orders pizza for lunch and puts it on her father’s credit card, and announces that they’re all meeting at Golden Corral for dinner at five before going to Mike’s for rehearsal. No one argues with her; all-you-can-eat sounds like a good idea to most of them. No one argues with Finn’s insistence on rehearsal, either.

“So where did you get that gorgeous scarf, Kurt?” Mercedes asks as they’re all helping clean up in preparation for leaving. Kurt’s been talking about the need to shower before meeting back at the restaurant, but the way he looks at the clock makes Puck know that’s not all Kurt has in mind.

“Oh, it was a gift,” Kurt says with a pleased smile.

“From who? Did you have to find it and send your dad the link?”

“No, I didn’t pick it out,” Kurt counters. “And it was from... my secret admirer.” Puck peeks behind him to see Kurt smirking slightly.

“A secret admirer? With good taste? Boy, you need to stop yanking my chain!” She laughs, and after a moment, Kurt laughs lightly. Puck just smirks and mentally pats himself on the back.

Kurt does manage to get the three of them out the door with a jaunty wave before 2 pm, which probably is an achievement, since Sam, Artie, and Brittany were all campaigning for an afternoon of Wii.

Kurt pulls up to the Hudmel house and turns to look at Finn. “We’ll be here by 4:30 if you want a ride to Golden Corral. Just find out if we’re giving Rachel a ride, okay?”

“Yeah, uh,” Finn mumbles. “About that...did I, like, _say_ something. That I shouldn’t have? I woke up feeling like maybe I did.”

Kurt exchanges a glance with Puck, who quirks his eyebrow in lieu of shrugging. “There... may have been an exchange that you probably wouldn’t want to repeat,” Kurt finally answers slowly. “However, I don’t think anyone but Santana and I were sober enough to remember any details. I’m fairly certain Rachel was, if possible, _more_ drunk than you.”

Finn looks bolstered by this information. “Ok, I’ll call her then. Thanks, guys. A lot.” He gives Kurt a long, strange look, but doesn’t say anything else.

“All part of the service,” Kurt says with a grin, and Puck chuckles. “You’re a good waffle, Finn.”

“You’re the best pancake,” Finn answers, climbing out of the Nav. “See you around 4:30. Later, Puck.”

“Later, dude.” Puck shifts in the seat to angle towards Kurt again. “Really eager for that shower, blue eyes.”

Kurt grins widely. “Remember? We’re efficient. Tidy. Ecologically friendly.”

Puck laughs. “I like that.”

A very long shower and a change of clothes for Puck later, Puck leaves a note for his mom and Hannah that he’ll be back late, and follows Kurt back down the stairs to the Nav. When they reach the Hudmel house, they walk in through the garage and pause in the kitchen, where Kurt grabs them each a bottle of water.

“That you, Kurt?” Burt calls out from the living room. “Come in and see your old man.”

“Hi, Dad,” Kurt calls back, then leads the way into the living room, dropping down on the sofa and pulling Puck down beside him. “Happy New Year!”

“Same to you, son,” Burt nods. “Puckerman, I like the hair cut.”

“Thanks,” Puck nods. “Nice not to be called bald,” he adds with a slight grin.

“You look, I dunno, less like a hoodlum trying to compromise my son’s upstanding moral character,” Burt jokes. Well, it’s probably a joke.

“I did notice a distinct lack of suspicious looks in stores,” Puck has to admit, shrugging.

“Well, you weren’t doing yourself any favors with that mohawk,” Burt says, “but the new look is nice. You look older. Anyway, you boys have a nice trip?”

Kurt nods. “We went up in the Willis Tower–what used to be the Sears Tower, Dad–and Puck got us tickets for a musical one night!” He smiles and squeezes Puck’s hand. “You can look at the pictures online, it’s sort of ridiculous. The Tower ones, I mean.”

“Sure, sure. You just give me the whatsit, the Internet address to it, and I’ll check those out,” Burt promises. “You get any pizza?”

“Giordano’s,” Kurt answers. “Also Chicago dogs.”

“And Hard Rock.”

“Exactly.”

“Sounds like fun. You get out to the Pier?”

“Yes, they had a whole Winter WonderFest thing going on. Rides and ice skating and...” Kurt trails off for a moment, looking at Puck.

“Don’t forget the cheesy musical performances,” he offers, grinning.

“They still have that robot tinman guy out there?” Burt asks. “I love that guy!”

“I don’t think we saw anything like that,” Kurt answers apologetically, then yelps as he looks at the time. “I’ve got to get changed. I’ll be right back, Puck.” He springs up from the sofa and a moment later, his feet pound up the stairs rapidly. Puck looks at the television in the wake of Kurt’s abrupt departure.

“Kurt enjoy that, what was that show you were taking him to?” Burt asks, without really looking at Puck.

“Yeah, yeah, he did. Uh, _La Cage_ something? I don’t know French,” Puck admits with a shrug. Puck can feel his hands sweating and tries not to wipe them on his jeans or the sofa.

“Kid loves his musicals,” Burt says. “Glad you guys kept so busy while you were out there. Making the most of your trip and all.”

“Yeah, it’s not that likely we’ll get out there again anytime soon,” Puck agrees, nodding and deciding that feigning at least a little interest in the football game on the television is a good option.

“Right, gonna be a full plate for you kids for a while,” Burt says, “what with finishing the school year and doing all those auditions. I also don’t guess Chicago’s that exciting compared to New York.”

“Well, you know. One’s a place to visit, and the other...” he trails off and shrugs, hoping that Kurt will reappear soon.

“Hmm,” Burt says, and doesn’t expand on that thought. Luckily for Puck, two pairs of footsteps echo on the stairs, and Kurt comes back into the room, Finn trailing behind him, looking rough. Kurt’s wearing grey and brown, which seems like something that someone would say shouldn’t work, but it does anyway for Kurt.

“Ready?” Kurt asks, then turns to Burt. “We’re meeting the rest of the club for dinner and then rehearsal, Dad. See you this evening?”

“Be safe, guys,” Burt says.

“We will,” Kurt responds as Puck stands. Finn offers a weak, “‘Night, Burt,” like even that much pains him.

“You need more Advil, dude?” Puck mutters as the three of them jostle down the hallway. Whoever built the Hudmel house wasn’t planning for the size of three twenty-first century teenage boys.

“Just took some,” Finn says. “Do you have to be so loud, dude? My headache came back about an hour ago.”

“Uh.” Puck exchanges a look with Kurt behind Finn’s back, because he was being really quiet, just in case Burt overheard. “Sure.”

“Thanks, man. I told Burt that the girls kept me up all night squealing and throwing shit in Santana’s room,” Finn says, with sheepish grin. “I don’t know if he bought it or just wanted to buy it, but either way, nobody gave me any grief about it. Oh, and I told him you two fell asleep on the sofa watching the ball drop.”

“Good to know,” Kurt replies, amused, as they climb into the Nav. “How are we going to rehearse if you can’t stand noise, Finn?”

“My guess? Really crappily,” Finn suggests.

“Tsk, tsk,” Puck says with a grin. “Poor leadership, Mr. Hudson.”

“They can kiss my leadership,” Finn grumbles from the back of the Nav. “They’d be happy to skip all together if I let ‘em.”

“So little faith in us,” Kurt says with a small sigh. “Tragic.”

“It is,” Puck agrees, and flips on the radio with a small smirk, even though the volume is really low.

“Hey, I said _them_!”

Kurt laughs. “I’m sure.”

 

Golden Corral is crowded, since it’s a holiday AND a Sunday, and they actually have to all stand around holding their trays for a few moments while the staff pushes enough tables together. Artie expresses his sadness that Mindy had to return home, and Tina and Mercedes keep up a loud conversation about some new designer line that Kurt doesn’t actually have an opinion on.

“It’s all for women and nothing really adaptable,” he says in an undertone. “The price is nice but I don’t understand the appeal, to be honest.”

Puck snorts a little under his breath as they finally take their seats. If he’s really honest, he doesn’t particularly enjoy these big glee club get-togethers. He has to deal with the weirdness of paying for one person’s food and only one person’s food, and then the weird dance of where to sit, and after _that_ , if he ends up next to or across from Kurt, his hands and feet twitch and he has to deal with that, too.

Puck really hates the closet, and then someone like Mercedes starts talking about possibly-true gossip that she overheard somehow, even being out of town for a week, and he remembers why he’s not out even to these people, because eventually one of them would slip up.

He looks at Santana at that thought, at the smile on her face as she looks at Brittany, and he worries about how long it will be before it happens to her, before she’s outed to the entire school before she’s ready. He thinks about Casey, who isn’t out officially but still gets treated as if he is, and Dave, who hasn’t even had to go back to school since he came out at the PFLAG meeting.

He doesn’t know how any of them are going to make it to June, actually, and he’s not even sure how he’s going to make it, closet or no closet. One day at a time.

Kurt nudges him, and Puck realizes with a start that he’s stopped mid-bite, thinking. “You okay?” Kurt whispers.

Puck nods jerkily. “Yeah,” he answers. “Okay as can be, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Kurt nods, and they both return to eating.

 

“Ok, everybody,” Finn says, with less than his usual enthusiasm. “Nice break?”

Puck can’t resist a huge smirk. “Oh yeah.” Most of the rest of the room is staring blankly, clearly still feeling the aftereffects of the night before. Puck’s pretty sure he would be too, if it weren’t that he’s kept on the Advil and gone through a case of water bottles, practically.

“Yeah, well. So I think most of us,” Finn continues, casting a glare in Puck’s direction, “aren’t really feeling super peppy today. I was thinking we could do a vocal-only run through today, just to work out the kinks,” again, a glare at Puck, “from having so much time off.”

Santana’s the one that smirks, though. “I like a nice kink or two,” she offers with a sugary grin.

“Yes, what happened to your plan to have us dance regularly to loosen up?” Kurt offers.

“How much did your shoes cost?” Finn asks.

“These?” Kurt holds out his feet and examines them critically. “Let’s see. I bought them at the end of the season, last February--”

“Yeah, well, if you want to have to buy new ones because I’ve just puked on them, we’ll dance, ok?”

“I wasn’t planning on dancing with you,” Kurt shrugs.

“I’ll be sure to aim if the comments continue, dude,” Finn warns. “We’ll dance next time, guys. All in favor of _not_ shaking our bodies around today?” Most of the hands go up. “Good. Singing this time. Let’s start at the top.”

“Dude. We haven’t even finished figuring out who’s singing what, especially not for ‘Waiting on the World to Change,’” Puck points out. “Are we just all singing all of it for today, or what?”

“Dude, do you wanna run this meeting?” Finn snaps. “‘Cause I can go back out to the Nav and have a nap or something. Yeah, we’re all singing all of it. I’m _listening_ for something, smart ass.”

“Good luck getting into the Nav,” Puck shrugs.

“Then I’ll sleep on the top. Whatever. Shut up or sing or whatever.”

“Oookay, boys,” Kurt interjects with a sigh. “Clearly this is going to be an exciting rehearsal.”

“Let’s sing,” Santana says, rolling her eyes a little. “If some of you can.”

“Thank you, Santana,” Finn says. “See, someone’s ready to work. Let’s sing the damn song.”

Someone manages to get the music started, so they run through the three songs in no particular order. In fact, Puck is pretty sure that “Marchin’ On” is not a perfect follow-up to “Tubthumping,” but he doesn’t say anything else. Frankly, at this point, he would have been better off in his bedroom with Kurt, but whatever.

They run through ‘Waiting on the World to Change’ last, and immediately after, Finn gets the figuring something out look, and says, “Hey, Sam, you mind going back through the last verse by yourself?”

Sam shrugs. “Sure.” They restart the music and Sam sings the middle portion of the song, about information and owning it. Finn gives Puck a meaningful look and then catches Kurt’s eye and does the same. Puck exchanges a glance of his own with Kurt, who tilts his head slightly to each side and then nods once, sharply. Puck nods a little and shrugs slightly, then tilts his head back toward Finn in agreement.

Finn nods decisively. “Sam, we think you should sing the solo for that song.”

“Who’s we?” Tina asks, looking confused, like maybe she fell asleep and missed ten minutes.

Finn returns Tina’s puzzled look. “Me, Puck, and Kurt,” he says, like it should be obvious. “Just now.”

“You didn’t say anything,” she points out,” and the three of them just look at her blankly.

Rachel pipes up. “I know! Isn’t it strange?”

“I like it. It’s like MST3K,” Brittany says. “If you don’t listen to the real words, you can make up any words you want.”

Kurt looks at Brittany, puzzled, and then nods, almost resigned.

“Okay, so Sam’s singing the solo on that,” Mercedes states. “And we ran through all three songs. Can we, like... drink more water or something?”

“We can drink more water and then Sam can sing the whole song, and we’ll work on the background vocals,” Finn says, sounding a little perkier than before the singing. “That ok with you, ma’am?”

“If the water comes with complementary painkillers.”

“We have Asian painkillers,” Mike offers apologetically.

Artie tries to stifle a laugh. Brittany starts to giggle. Nobody wants to look anybody else in the face, but it doesn’t really help, and within moments, everybody, including Mike, is cracking up. Tina is jumping up and down going “Stop! Stop! You’re going to make me pee!” That just makes them all laugh harder, until she dashes for the bathroom with a final shriek. She reemerges under a minute later triumphantly. “I peed!”

“Good for you, Tina,” Finn says, enthusiastically.

 

Puck rubs his eyes and looks at the clock. He can't figure out why he woke up after just two hours of sleep, and why he can't get back to sleep.

That's not true. He can come up with exactly one reason, but if it's the reason, he's not the only one awake in Lima at 2:30 am.

 _You awake K_

He lies in the dark, holding his phone and feeling a little stupid for sending the text, but before a minute passes, his phone lights up with a response.

 _Yes_

A moment later, a second message from Kurt comes through.

 _Feels wrong now. I'm lonely. And cold._

Puck bites his lip and tries not to make any sound. Yes, Kurt's got it exactly right–his bed feels wrong and lonely and even a little bit cold, though probably not as cold as Kurt feels. Puck turns on his side and wraps his arm around his extra pillow.

 _We both have unlimited text right? Tomorrow free. Text now sleep later?_

 _Brilliant_

And they do text, back and forth, for nearly three hours before Puck has to get up and drive to work. He drinks a lot of coffee and stumbles through his shift and then the drive over to Kurt's, where Carole and Burt have already headed to work. Kurt's sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a huge mug of coffee.

"Finn's asleep and probably will be for hours yet. Tina wants us to meet her and Mike at the OSU-Lima bookstore at 3:30. Bed now?"

"Yes," Puck nods fervently, and they head up the stairs. Kurt pushes his door closed and they both strip before sliding under Kurt's many covers and into each other arms. "Better," Puck says with a content sigh, his eyes already drifting closed.

"Much," Kurt nods against him. "Sleep, baby." He presses his lips to Puck's forehead.

"You too, blue eyes."

And they do, for six blissful hours, until Kurt's phone informs them that it's time to wake up if they're going to meet Mike and Tina. Puck yawns. "Already? It only takes, like, ten minutes to get there, right?"

"Well," Kurt grins suddenly. "I thought we might want to take a _little_ advantage of the last day of winter holidays."

Puck returns the grin, then. "Point taken." He runs his fingers through Kurt's hair and then stills his hand on the back of Kurt's head, holding him in place as he closes the space between them and brushes his lips against Kurt's. Kurt's mouth falls open under his, and Puck thrusts his tongue over Kurt's. He mentally decides that fuck it, they can make up some kind of stupid story about why they're late to meet Mike and Tina, if necessary.

There's a lot of great things about literally sleeping with Kurt. Waiting up to see Kurt first thing, skin on skin, embracing, all of it. The easy access to each other as soon as they wake up is definitely one of the best, though, and Kurt's finger slips inside Puck during that initial kiss, probing until it brushes Puck's prostate and he bucks in place. Kurt breaks the kiss and attaches his mouth to Puck's shoulder, pushing his finger slowly in and out of Puck.

Puck lets out a low groan as a second finger joins the first, the only lubrication a small amount of Kurt's saliva. They're moving together, Kurt's breath hot on Puck's skin, and finally he hears the click of the lid on the lube and the wet slap of Kurt's other hand on Kurt's cock. Kurt eases Puck from his side onto his back and slowly slides into Puck, his breath escaping in short, audible puffs.

"Don't know if Finn's here," Kurt points out, voice low, and Puck nods, pressing his lips together in an effort to suppress any noise he might otherwise make. Kurt does the same as he moves slowly in and out of Puck. Kurt picks up one of Puck's hands in his and wraps their joined hands around Puck's cock, sliding up and down it slowly, out of rhythm with the pace of his thrusts.

It doesn't take long before Puck is coming, and a low sound does escape from his lips as Kurt comes as well. They huddle under the covers together until the last possible moment, then get dressed hurriedly and head out to meet Mike and Tina at the bookstore.

Puck and Mike are again in the same math class–this time 'statistical applications,' whatever that means–and Tina and Kurt are taking an introductory psychology class at the same time. Puck's just thankful that the math book is a lot cheaper this time around, and Kurt mutters something about how plays, at least, are cheap, even if there are five of them and they're in French. The crowd is huge at the bookstore, and they don't have enough people working, so it's close to five by the time they finish paying for their books.

"Want to grab an early dinner?" Tina asks. "I so don't want to go back to school tomorrow!"

"Me either," Puck agrees frankly. "Subway?"

"That sounds perfect," Mike agrees. "Oh, did you find a class for your sister, Puck?"

"Yeah, yeah, the place over on Bellafontaine," Puck nods. "Starts tonight, actually. She can't stop bouncing, she's so excited."

"Hannah usually can't stop bouncing," Kurt points out.

"This is true," Puck laughs.

"See you at Subway!" Tina calls as they reach the Nav and she and Mike keep walking towards her car.

"Does this mean we can eat _two_ dinners?" Kurt muses as they drive. "One now, and another in an hour with your mom and Hannah?"

Puck grins. "Yeah, that sounds about right. Especially since we slept through lunch."

"Point." Kurt reaches across the console and squeezes Puck's hand. "This is hard, baby. I didn't realize Chicago was going to make it harder."

"Me either." Puck can feel his body curling in, angling towards Kurt but curling in on itself. It's a very defensive posture, but that's how Puck feels: like he's in a state of defending, unless he's in his own room or Kurt's room or away from Lima.

And Subway is every bit as awkward as he was afraid it would be, hands in his pockets and abortive movements until he settles for drumming the heels of his boots against the floor in a complicated pattern, because it keeps part of him _busy_.

It's a relief to enter his apartment, Hannah setting the table and his mom in the kitchen, and Kurt slides against with a sigh that Puck's pretty sure Kurt isn't even conscious of making. "Noah!" Rina gasps, and Puck turns to look at her, startled.

"What?"

"Your hair!"

"Oh. Yeah." Puck runs a hand over his head. "I keep forgetting."

Kurt laughs. "You need a standard answer by tomorrow."

"Seriously," Puck agrees, nodding, then turns back to Rina. "Yeah, I decided it was time."

"Oooh," Hannah comes into the room. "You're bald, Noah!"

"I am not bald!" Puck protests indignantly. He grabs Hannah's hand and bends down, making her run her hand over his head. "See?"

"It's _really_ short," Hannah argues. "And prickly."

"I think it's soft," Kurt counters, running his own hand over Puck's scalp lightly, and Puck leans into the touch.

Hannah rolls her eyes at them, and Puck scowls, because since when is Hannah old enough to roll her eyes about it? "Food's ready," Rina interjects. "Everyone sit down."

Dinner's simple, and Puck recognizes the post-holiday scrimping; meals are always a little more simple and a little light on meat just after Hanukkah. It's still good, though, and Puck has to admit it took him far too many years to catch on to what his mom was doing. Latkes and blintzes and presents and a day or two free from work add up after awhile.

"I'm going to take Hannah to her class now," Rina says as they clear the table, and Hannah grins. "Can you boys do the dishes?"

"Sure, Mom," Puck nods. "Have fun, squirt."

"I will!"

Hannah's class is only an hour long, and Puck and Kurt decide with a glance not to bother trying, despite Rina's pointed assurance that she's going to sit and observe Hannah's class. By the time they finish the dishes and wander into Puck's room, there wouldn't have been much time as it is.

"I should check my email," Puck groans, sitting at his computer. "I haven't since… Tuesday. Right before I drove over to pick you up." He grins at Kurt and the memory.

Kurt returns the grin and flops down on Puck's bed in a particularly ungraceful way that makes Puck's grin widen. "Can we just rewind and live the last week over and over, until we've done twenty or so of them, and it's summer?"

"Mmm. Good idea. Or even the last two weeks. Work a week, play a week."

"That would give us the necessary money to play for a week," Kurt agrees. "Did we miss any missives from Schue?"

"Nothing since the 'destination' assignment."

"Oh, right." Kurt frowns a little. "I guess I need to figure that out."

"And… okay, that's _weird_ ," Puck says in a rush.

"What is it, baby?" Kurt sits up in one smooth motion.

"Facebook." Puck reads the subject line "'Shelby Corcoran added you as a friend on Facebook.'"

"That's… unusual?" Kurt offers.

Puck clicks on the email and reads it carefully. "She wrote a message. Basically… that way I can see more pictures. I'm not going to see everything, feel free to do the same to her, blah blah."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

Kurt stands up and crosses to stand behind Puck, hands across Puck's chest. "The pictures."

Puck snorts. "Right. Sorry." He turns his head to grin at Kurt and clicks on the link in the email, getting to the album labeled "Beth--Winter 2011" with just a couple more clicks. It's full of pictures–more than fifty, actually, and about half of them are obviously from Christmas, wrapping paper around her and a tree behind her, but the rest are the rest of December. One with Santa, several in the snow, Beth's cheeks bright red from the cold, and at the end of the album, a picture from New Year's Eve followed by one that the caption says is from earlier that day. "Holy shit," Puck breathes. "Like. She could still be wearing that outfit, right now."

"That's true," Kurt murmurs in response, voice quiet. "It is a little strange."

"Yeah." Puck's lips curve into a smile almost involuntarily. "Look, that must be George," he adds, pointing to the little kitten in the far corner of the picture. "Running away from the camera." He stops suddenly and clicks to his own profile. "Shit, I need to like, delete that line," he says, gesturing at the screen.

"Oh, yeah." Kurt nods. "I think if you delete it there, it shouldn't appear in anyone else's feed."

"I hope so," Puck says grimly, and does just that, hoping no one else has noticed the line in the five minutes or so it took him to think of it.

"See if there are any others," Kurt suggests, and Puck pulls Kurt onto his lap as he does just that, clicking through the various albums that Shelby's made available for him to see. There's a lot, actually, pictures he's seen before but more from the same period of time, and they steadily work their way backwards until they're reading about the first day Beth sat up, and rolled over, and held her own head up.

They're about to click on the very first album when Puck hears his mom's key in the lock, and he closes Facebook as Kurt slides out of his lap and onto the bed. "Late coffee at the cafe? One more before we go back to work and drudgery?" he suggests.

Puck nods and cracks a small grin. "It'll keep us awake."

"Baby, in case you hadn't noticed, we slept for six hours in the middle of the day today. I don't feel tired at all."

"Good point." They reclaim their coats and walk down the street briskly, their breath visible puffs in the air. The cafe is just down from Puck's apartment, which makes it convenient, but mostly frequented by 30-something and 40-something women who talk loudly about their boyfriends, ex-husbands, and hairstylists, which means it's generally an excellent place for Puck and Kurt to grab a table together without anyone batting an eye or even noticing. Tonight, Puck moves his chair off-center and wraps his free hand around Kurt's.

"You sure?"

"Rock and a hard place." Puck takes a sip of his coffee and tries to collect his thoughts. "It's like. My mind is just churning. It doesn't matter what I do. Keep things the way they are, and there's one set of problems and hardships; go the other way, and it's just a different set, and I can't really live with either one of them."

Kurt just nods and squeezes Puck's hand understandingly.

 

That night is, in fact, similar to the night before; even after they're each in bed, they talk on the phone until deciding to try sleeping. Kurt ends up texting Puck barely 3 hours later and the night passes with snatches of sleep and texting alternating. They finally agree to try to sleep for the last hour and a half before Kurt comes to pick up Puck up for breakfast, and Puck drifts in and out of sleep.

An All-Star Special, plus hashbrowns and a second waffle, helps wake Puck up, and a large coffee to go should get him through most of the day, he figures. The first three periods plod past, and Rachel grins at him as they leave English. “Think we’re safe to walk together by now?”

Puck laughs a little. “Yeah, probably not, but as long as our boyfriends know better,” he answers, and Rachel laughs too.

“Exactly.”

“So where were you?” Rachel asks when they’re halfway to the choir room. “Last week, I mean?”

“What makes you think I was anywhere but at home or work?” Puck grins a little.

“Now I _know_ you were! You and your favorite contratenor.”

“Mmm. We might’ve been out of state.”

“Out of _state_?” Rachel squeals, yet somehow it’s still a whisper. “What?”

“Chicago.” Puck shrugs as they turn the corner onto the hall where the choir room is. “We went to Chicago. We got back just before Santana’s party.”

“Ohh. Did you have a wonderful time?”

Puck grins. “Oh yeah. It was good.” He pauses. “Coming back, not so much.” He falls silent as they walk into the room, half of the club there and milling about, Finn’s absence immediately apparent since no one is singing, dancing, or ordering singing or dancing. Mercedes, however, is standing against the piano, clutching something in her hands and grinning widely but saying nothing.

Finn finally comes walking in and immediately goes about getting everyone organized for his inevitable lecture slash peptalk slash whatever it is that’s going to be his pet topic for the day. Just as he gets them all quiet, Mercedes speaks up. “Before you start, Finn, I have an announcement.” She’s still grinning happily.

“Go right a head,” Finn says, with some sort of sweeping arm motion that’s probably meant to be gallant or something.

“I actually applied Early Action to two of my schools,” Mercedes begins, “my two top choices. And I got in to both of them!” She brandishes the letters in her hands, though Puck can’t tell what either of them says.

“Ooh, congratulations!” Rachel is the first to react. “Which two schools?”

“Agnes Scott and Spelman, both in Atlanta.”

“Congratulations, ‘Cedes,” Kurt is the next to respond, giving her a tight hug. “When do you have to decide?”

“Not until May, like everyone else,” she replies, still beaming.

“That’s really great, Mercedes,” Quinn says, with a wistful smile. “I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah, that’s awesome,” Mike says, with a nod. “Everyone’s slowly finding out good news.”

“The waiting is the worst,” Finn adds. “Like, seriously the worst.”

“I know!” Mercedes exclaims. “Even though it was a pain to get these done early, it feels _so_ good now.” She goes to the bulletin board and pins both letters into her space, and then sits down.

“Anybody else have any announcements?” Finn asks, taking his place at the front of the choir room. No one responds aside from shaking their heads no. “Alrighty then. Mike, you suggested we work on the choreography for ‘Tubthumping,’ so why don’t you show us what you’ve got?”

“Sure!” Mike gets up and looks at all of them. “I hope you have on comfortable shoes.” He looks over their feet. “Quinn, Brittany, Rachel, Kurt, you guys might want to keep some sneakers around for Tuesdays and Thursdays.” His grin is just a little too wide.

“I can dance in Doc Martens,” Kurt points out, “but I acknowledge the spirit of your message.”

“Great!” Mike’s grin is no less scary. “Everyone up!”

Forty minutes later, Mike finally declares that they’re done. Finn looks immensely relieved, but still suggests they start having fifteen minute choreography rehearsals on Wednesdays again. “Hey, I need all the practice I can get, guys,” he says, in response to a few half-hearted moans.

“Most of you do,” Mike adds mock-sternly, then laughs. “All right, guys, go grab some water before PFLAG. What’re we eating today?” he addresses Kurt.

Kurt just turns to Santana with a raised eyebrow. “Subway,” she answers. “Boys, don’t everyone grab a footlong to start with.”

“We’ll survive,” Kurt nods, and they all spill out of the room and down the corridor.

Some of them must decide to actually go grab water first, because Kurt, Puck, Finn, and Rachel are the first ones in the classroom, aside from Ms. Pillsbury and an assortment of sandwiches. They each grab a plate and find a seat as others make their way in.

Rickenbacker and Brown enter the room, talking about how much it sucked to not have the Rose Bowl on New Year’s, and how having it on the 2nd just doesn’t feel right. A few more people trickle in the door, and as the steady stream continues, Puck can’t help humming a little, thinking _the regular crowd shuffles in_.

Karofsky walks in looking a little taller and lighter than before, nodding at Rickenbacker and Brown before sitting in his usual seat and frowning slightly. Kurt’s just about to start the meeting when Casey slips quietly through the door, skirting around the outside of the circle of seats instead of cutting across them like he normally would. He sits on the opposite side of Karofsky from where he’s sat at the last couple of meetings, and keeps his head somewhat turned away from Karofsky. Karofsky’s frown gets deeper and even Puck has to admit that he looks like someone kicked his puppy. If he had a puppy.

“Welcome back,” Kurt says after a momentary pause. “I hope everyone had a good break. Let’s do introductions and then we’ll do some talking about what we’d like to accomplish the rest of this year.” He exhales slightly. “I’m Kurt, I’m a senior, and I’m gay.” He turns towards Rachel, sitting on the other side of him.

“I’m Rachel!” She beams at the room. “I’m a straight ally.”

“I’m Finn,” Finn says, after Rachel’s finished. “I’m a straight ally, too, and also Kurt’s brother, not necessarily in that order.”

A few others go before they come to Rickenbacker and Brown. Rickenbacker clears his throat and says, “I’m Rick. I’m, uh, a football player, mostly, but hey, football’s inclusive, and so am I.” He looks a little embarrassed, but also pleased with himself.

“Yeah, hey, I’m Miles Brown. I, uh. I think I’m that ‘questioning’ thing. Because I’m not gay, but I’m not totally straight either.” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but Puck can tell his muscles are pretty tense. Clearly, it _is_ a big deal, but he doesn’t want to let on. Rickenbacker gives Brown a supportive punch to the shoulder. Brown startles a little, like he’s surprised, but then relaxes a little, nodding at Rickenbacker with a tiny smile.

“I’m Brittany,” Brittany says, standing up. “I’m bisexual. That means you _all_ want me.”

Santana tugs her back down. “No, Britt-Britt. I mean, they do, but that’s not why.” She smiles a little. “And, yeah, I’m Santana and I’m a lesbian. Deal with it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mike says, snapping off a little salute and grinning at her. Santana chuckles for a second and dips her head towards him in acknowledgment.

They continue around the circle of chairs until they reach Casey. He keeps his chin tucked and his head slightly turned and barely breaks a whisper as he says, “I’m Casey.” He twiddles with a piece of gingery hair that’s fallen across his face.

Puck looks at Kurt, who’s frowning, and they both look across the circle at Karofsky, whose frown is even deeper now. He shrugs, indicating he doesn’t know what’s wrong. The next person, one of the freshman, introduces himself, and Puck is pleased that he actually remembered the dude’s name started with a T. Taylor. Like he’s going to remember that.

The introductions slowly straggle back around to Puck. “Yeah, I’m Puck. No, I’m not going bald.” There’s scattered laughter and Puck just smirks slightly in response.

“So.” Kurt squares his shoulders like he usually does at the beginning of the meeting. “I thought we could consider possible discussion topics and events for the rest of the year. I did a little research and one of the things I thought we might want to consider is the Day of Silence.”

“What’s that?” Finn asks.

“It’s designed to raise awareness of anti-GLBTQ language and actions through taking a vow of silence for a day. Many groups follow it up with a ‘Night of Noise’ after sundown.”

“Ok, now I need you to explain the ‘Night of Noise’ thing,” Finn says. “Sorry.”

“Well, after not speaking for a day, wouldn’t you want to talk for awhile? Specifically about the day but just in general?” Kurt shrugs. “This year the Day of Silence is on Friday, April 20, so organizing a Night of Noise event for the evening would be relatively easy.”

“What about the teachers?” Mr. Schue speaks up from against the far wall. “I mean, I know we could get through glee just fine,” he adds, smiling. “But I’m not sure about the rest of my classes.”

“There are also ‘vocal allies,’” Kurt answers, nodding. “The teachers could easily participate in that way.”

“So, we just don’t talk?” Finn asks, his face scrunched up in intense concentration, like he’s trying to get all the details figured out. “Or do we wear a t-shirt or something? What if someone asks _why_ we aren’t talking? Can we carry cards? Are we allowed to write?”

“Writing’s fine. There are stickers and t-shirts both that can identify you as participating. There are posters we can put up ahead of time, as well.”

“Cool.” Finn nods. “Do we have to get permission from Figgins, do you think?”

Puck looks over at Schue, who is pointedly studying his feet as Kurt answers. “Easier to ask forgiveness than permission.”

“Oh, this is very exciting!” Rachel grins. “What other ideas did you have, Kurt?”

“I have an idea!” Brittany says, raising her hand.

“Go ahead, Britt,” Kurt answers.

“Can we talk about how being bi is, like, totally green?” Brittany asks. “I mean, going green is about using resources wisely, right?”

“Yes,” Kurt says, nodding slowly. “How is being bisexual using resources wisely, Brittany?”

“You don’t have to drive far away in your car,” Brittany explains, “because you have twice as many options of people to date right here at McKinley. Also, I think it does something with wind power.”

Puck furrows his brow. Wind power? What in the world is Brittany thinking now–and do any of them really _want_ to know?

“Well, that’s an interesting perspective.” Kurt clicks his pen absently. “We could certainly discuss, um. Biphobia and attitudes towards bisexual individuals within the GLBTQ community.”

“Thank you, Kurt,” Brittany says, smiling. “You’re like one of those Power Gays I heard about.”

Puck hopes that doesn’t mean Brittany thinks Kurt is a form of alternative energy. Kurt just nods. “Ah, thanks.”

“Yeah, I was reading somewhere about some groups do a ‘things you wanted to know but were afraid to ask’ thing,” Karofsky says. “Like, maybe Ms. Pillsbury could have a box, and everyone could put their questions in there before the next meeting, and then we go through and answer them in the meeting. So no one has to be embarrassed by what they want to ask.”

“I like that idea,” Kurt nods. “I think we need to include that no one laughs at any of the questions, anonymous or not.”

Rickenbacker tentatively raises his hand, doing that ‘poised to look like I’m really just scratching my head’ thing. Kurt nods in his direction without speaking. “Any kind of question?” Rickenbacker asks.

“I think so, yes,” Kurt says. “Unless it’s designed to be offensive, of course.” Rickenbacker immediately puts up his hands to indicate that isn’t the goal. Kurt presses his lips together very briefly, obviously trying not to laugh at Rickenbacker.

“What kind of things to other groups talk about at other schools?” Sam asks. “Like, did you find common topics?”

“I did,” Kurt nods. “Um.” He flips through the notebook on his lap. “Stereotypes, passing, religion, discrimination, coming out, various rights, gay history, politics and activism... oh, and some groups do movie screenings outside their usual meeting time.”

“What about heteronormativity?”

“Yeah,” Santana nods at Karofsky’s suggestion. “There’s a lot of systemic and latent homophobia even where there isn’t overt homophobia.”

“Good suggestions,” Kurt nods, writing them down. “Any others?”

“Yeah, what’d you mean by ‘passing,’ exactly?” Mercedes asks. “I know what it means for someone who’s black, but.”

“Well, similarly, some of us present as, well, gay.” Kurt shrugs. “Other men are able to pass for straight. The same for some lesbians.” Puck feels a little like squirming as Kurt explains it. Yeah, he can pass, and apparently fairly well, but it starts to feel weirder and weirder.

“So, is passing a bad thing or a good thing?” Finn asks. “Or, like, both. Or neither?”

“Yes,” Kurt answers wryly. “An argument could probably be made for all of those. It’s not an issue I really have to worry about, obviously, but I think it’s something each individual has to come to terms with on his or her own.”

“But, it’s ok if they feel like they need to, right?” Finn sort of half asks and half states. “There’s nothing _wrong_ with it.”

“Everyone has to do what they need to do,” Kurt agrees. “There are people who do find it problematic, but in general, I think we all agree about closets, don’t we?”

“Right! We don’t chop ‘em down or,” Finn struggles to remember, “set them on fire or whatever.” He looks at Kurt for approval.

“Exactly. No pyromania in PFLAG.” Kurt grins and Finn returns his smile. “Any other thoughts on topics?”

“What about family support?” Karofsky’s eyes dart towards Casey, who’s still curled away from him. “Or lack thereof?” This seems to spark Casey’s attention, because his head snaps up briefly before dropping back down.

“An important topic,” Kurt nods. “Good idea, David.” He scans the room a final time. “Anything else?” When no one responds, Kurt continues. “All right. I’ll try to pencil in some topics and I’ll put a box for questions in Ms. Pillsbury’s office tomorrow. Thanks everyone.”

Casey stands and starts to slink out around the outside of the circle before Kurt’s even done talking. Karofsky stands as well, planting himself in front of the door without touching Casey. “Case?” he says gently.

“No, David,” Casey says, trying to skirt around him. “I’ve gotta get to class.” He keeps his head turned away, looking toward the ground rather than at Karofsky, his hair falling in a curtain across his face.

“Puckerman can forge you a pass,” Karofsky insists, and Puck starts but doesn’t deny it.

“No, I really need to, just let me,” Casey says, still trying to get around Karofsky. “Why won’t you just let me _out_ , David!” he finally says in frustration, his voice cracking. “I’ve gotta get out of here.”

“Okay. Okay. Where you wanna go?” Karofsky asks. “We’ll go somewhere else.”

Casey mumbles something too quiet for Puck to hear it, but Karofsky must, because he nods.

“Yeah, all right.” He purses his lips, clearly thinking. “Let’s go down towards the auditorium, no one’s there this time of day.”

Casey nods slowly, finally turning to look at Karofsky with that hopeful hero-worship look on his face, like somehow Karofsky’s going to make whatever’s going on better. Karofsky swears, just loud enough for Puck to hear, and steers Casey out the door without Puck figuring out what Karofsky’s swearing about.

Puck glances over at Kurt to see that one of the underclassmen is asking him a question, and Puck starts putting the chairs back in order, grabbing another section of sandwich when he finishes. The underclassman scampers out and leaves the two of them alone, Kurt shoving his notebook back into his bag. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Puck says with a shrug. “I guess.”

“Yeah,” Kurt agrees quietly. “I’ll see you after class.”

“Be good, K.”

“I’m always good.”

 

Puck’s body feels torn between two competing and urgent needs by the time the bell rings on Tuesday afternoon. It’s _Tuesday_ , after all, but he’s also tired, the product of two nights of less than stellar sleep. He throws everything into his backpack without paying attention to how it lands and heads out the door, pushing through the crowded hallways with a scowl on his face.

Seeing the Nav parked close to the entrance helps a little, and he swings into the passenger seat with a sigh. “Hey. How was class?”

“Dramatic. And French.” Kurt grins. “It shouldn’t be too terrible, though. Maybe a little boring, but not hard.”

“That’s good.” Puck settles in a little more comfortably. “I have to meet with that professor Ms. P found, tomorrow. I hope whoever it is is decent. And not too expensive.”

“Competent would be good, yes,” Kurt agrees. He reaches over the console and grabs Puck’s hand, threading their fingers together.

“This sucks.”

“Yeah. It does.”

“I expected it to suck. I just didn’t expect it to suck this much.”

“C’mon.” Kurt kills the engine and as soon as they’re inside the house, he drops his bag and pulls Puck close. “I love you,” he murmurs, lips against the skin of Puck’s neck. “So very much.”

Puck smiles against Kurt’s hair. “I know,” he replies softly. “I love you too.” He brings one hand up and runs it through Kurt’s hair. “Let’s go upstairs, blue eyes.”

“I like that idea,” Kurt agrees, nodding as he steps back and claims Puck’s hand as they walk down the hall and up the stairs. Puck reaches up and plucks Kurt’s hat off his head, plopping it on his own with a grin. “It doesn’t really go with the rest of your outfit,” Kurt says diplomatically.

“Yeah, what you mean is that it doesn’t go with my face,” Puck laughs.

“Not every style is for everyone.”

“True.” Puck closes the door behind them and pushes his lips against Kurt’s hard, forcing Kurt’s lips open with his tongue as Kurt pushes him up against the back of the door. Puck slides his hands under Kurt’s sweater and wifebeater, caressing Kurt’s skin softly. Kurt’s hands are on either side of Puck’s face, holding him in place and further deepening the kiss. Puck rolls his hips forward, making contact with Kurt’s, and Kurt pulls back after that.

“Bed.”

“Yes,” Puck agrees, his hands going to remove the pink scarf tied around Kurt’s neck while Kurt’s hands work at the front of Puck’s shirt. It takes a little longer than Puck would like before both of them are bare chested and walking towards the bed. They both stop and slide out of their jeans and Puck’s reaching for his own underwear when he stops and looks at Kurt, who just grins smugly before twirling in place. “You are such a tease.”

“You like it,” Kurt counters, stepping close, and Puck runs his hand over Kurt’s smooth ass.

“I do,” Puck admits, sliding a finger under the elastic on Kurt’s hips. “But only because you follow through.”

“I wouldn’t enjoy it very much if I didn’t, either,” Kurt giggles, and then Kurt’s pushing Puck’s underwear down and off.

“There’s that,” Puck grins, pressing another kiss to Kurt’s lips before lying on his side on the bed, watching Kurt. “You’re beautiful.”

Kurt’s cheeks tint pink, just barely, and he slides out of the thong, practically stalking his way to Puck. “And you’re just plain amazing.”

Puck, still grinning, pulls on Kurt’s hands and rolls onto his back as Kurt falls half on top of him. “Not afraid my ego might get too big?”

Kurt laughs. “I can always deflate it later, right?”

“Sure. You can try, anyway.” Puck settles his hands on Kurt’s hips and Kurt drags his erection along Puck’s. Puck tilts his pelvis up to meet Kurt’s movement, exhaling.

“No one noticed your necklace,” Kurt points out, one hand toying with it.

“No one noticed your bracelet either.” Puck pushes upward again. “We’ve already established that we have spectacularly unobservant friends, though.”

“True.” Kurt pulls back, sitting on his knees. “Turn over.”

Puck does exactly that, then pulls up to his hands and knees when Kurt’s hand snakes underneath him, lightly stroking. “K.”

“What, baby?” Kurt’s hand leaves his cock and strokes Puck’s ass.

“Fuck me.”

“Yes,” Kurt hisses in response, and then his tongue swipes over Puck’s entrance, circling it twice before pushing inside.

“Oh, fuck, yes.” Puck’s hands clench at the covers underneath him as Kurt’s tongue slips deeper inside him. “Blue eyes, so good.”

Kurt continues for just a moment longer before he pulls away, Puck protesting a little, and then a moment after that, Kurt’s cock is pushing insistently inside him, slow and steady but unyielding. “Yes, baby,” Kurt murmurs. “Just like that, god, Puck, you’re always so tight for me, baby. Feels _so_ good.”

Puck tightens around Kurt, making Kurt gasp a little and slip further in with a jerk of his hips. “Yeah, K, need you. Filling me up.” Kurt pushes himself the rest of the way in at that, his balls flush against Puck’s ass, and Puck closes his eyes, rotating his body back towards Kurt. “Please, K. Make me scream.”

“Oh, yeah.” Kurt’s voice is a little more breathless and a little more broken. “Make you feel so good.” He jerks backward and then pushes back in again, the movement fast, and his cock brushes against Puck’s prostate without any change of angle. There’s a high-pitched whine from one of them or both of them, Puck’s not really sure anymore as Kurt pounds into him repeatedly.

He clenches around Kurt, holding it as Kurt pulls out and back in, and Kurt’s hands grab at Puck’s hips, fixing him in place. “Kurt.” He gasps a little, breathing heavily, and then Kurt’s hand moves to Puck’s cock. The dual contact sends Puck spiraling into his orgasm, and seconds later he feels Kurt spilling into him before his arms give out at last and he collapses onto the bed, Kurt on top of him and still half-inside him. “K.”

“Puck,” Kurt responds, voice quiet. After a long moment, Kurt slides out and to the side, and Puck gathers him into his arms.

“Time to sleep.”

“Yes.”

Puck feels like he’s forgetting something, but can’t quite place what as their eyes close, buried under Kurt’s piles of blankets.

“Boys. Boys!” is the next thing Puck hears, and he tightens his arms around Kurt and buries his face in Kurt’s neck.

“Go’ay,” Kurt mutters to the voice.

“Noah. Kurt.” Puck scrunches up his face. “Burt’ll be home soon.”

Puck groans a little into Kurt’s skin but doesn’t move otherwise. Right. Kurt’s house. Tuesday night. If Carole’s already home, they must’ve slept for awhile.

“‘Kay.” Kurt stretches but doesn’t move out of Puck’s arms.

“Kurt.” Carole’s voice is still gentle, but a little more insistent. “The two of you need to get up and, ah. Get dressed.”

“What time is it?” Kurt mumbles.

“Nearly nine. Burt got held up with a car or he would have been here first.”

“Nine?” Kurt finally starts to sit up, and Puck opens his eyes reluctantly. “Good grief.” He yawns. “All right, we’re up,” he nods at Carole. “Thanks, Carole.”

“You’re welcome.” She smiles at them and then goes back out of the room, closing the door behind her.

“We’d better get dressed,” Puck says unnecessarily, and they do, though probably more slowly than they should. Kurt’s just swung the door open when they hear the garage door rumble up, signaling Burt’s return.

“Let’s go ahead and go while he’s changing,” Kurt says with a little sigh. “We can go sit at Pat’s until curfew.”

“Okay,” Puck agrees with a nod. “Doughnut time.”

 

"I'm an utter idiot."

"Good morning?" Puck answers, wrinkling his forehead, and slides Kurt's coffee towards him. If Kurt feels anything like Puck does, he'll want that as soon as possible.

"I've been trying for at least a month now to figure out a way for you to have the Nav overnight, at least when you work the next morning. Of course, when it's not winter break, I somehow have to get here." Kurt takes a drink of the coffee. "Oh, you make me want to give up atheism. I'll worship you instead."

"Right." Puck grins. "Puckism? Puckterian? Puckish?"

"Puckish!" Kurt grins. "So this morning, I'm walking out at the same time as Carole, and it finally hits me. _Carole works here. And she gets here at eight._ " Kurt throws up his hands and shakes his head at himself.

Puck chuckles. "That would work, I guess. If she was willing."

"I asked her." Kurt beams. "So starting tomorrow, she's going to bring me here on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. Which means you can keep the Nav tonight!"

"She's really okay with it?" Kurt nods. "And… your dad? He's going to be okay with me having the Nav that much?" Puck can't help but sound dubious.

Kurt waves his hand as if it's of no consequence. "If he gets upset, I'll let Carole handle it. She's still worked up over the fact that you've been walking to work 'in the cold and wet!'"

Puck grins and finally finishes his own drink, walking around the counter. "Carole's awesome," he agrees. He slides his arm around Kurt's waist without thinking about it, and it's only Kurt's startled face that reminds him that, yes, dammit, they're still in Lima.

On Sunday, they were celebrating making it to 2012; today, "five months until graduation" sounds like five months too long.

Way too long.

 

"Hi." Kurt's voice is quiet but pleased. "How was work?"

"All right." Puck closes his bedroom door behind him and sinks onto the bed with a sigh. "You?"

"Oil change extravaganza," Kurt answers, tone wry. "Still sleepy?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Yes," Kurt groans. "This sucks, baby."

"I know." Puck sighs again as he starts to get undressed. "I talked to my manager about the insurance thing like you suggested, got that taken care of."

"Oh, good."

"You know, I almost could add you." He stops and pulls his shirt off. "I mean, I asked about it, because you know, same-sex partners and all that, but."

Kurt's quiet for a second, and Puck can picture him, blinking and looking a little stunned. "Almost?" he finally says.

"We don't have the same physical address. So I guess I could in August. Oh, and 'financial interdependence.' Which, you know, on paper, we're don't have that."

"No," Kurt agrees slowly. "Not on paper."

"But it sort of feels like we do. I dunno."

"Yes. Well. At some point, we'll…"

"Yeah." Puck can't help but interrupt with a grin. "May, maybe."

"A different kind of sightseeing." Kurt's voice is the happiest it's been since they started talking, and Puck's is as well.

"Well, we don't really need a day of sightseeing in the same way, do we now?"

"No, we don't." Kurt yawns at the end of the sentence. "God, I've been yawning all day long. No amount of coffee is helping."

"Much work to do?"

"No, thankfully. You?"

"Nope. We should try to sleep while we're actually–" Puck pauses to yawn himself "–seemingly sleepy."

"True. Are you ready for bed?"

"Pretty much," Puck agrees. "Just got to brush my teeth."

"Okay. I have a feeling this night isn't going to be horribly different than the past few nights."

"No, probably not. Be good, K."

"I'm always good."

 

Puck is pretty sure that he and Kurt will actually sleep on Thursday night; they didn't nap the day before and won't get a chance to do so because of glee club and homework. Maybe two days of not napping will be enough to get them into some kind of normal pattern. He hopes.

He's yawning through the afternoon, though, and at 2:30 he gives up and goes in search of a bottle of water after digging through his backpack for a stray packet of instant coffee. He hasn't had to live on them since the end of October, but he digs up an iced coffee one, thankfully, and dumps it into the water bottle.

The crackle of the bell ringing makes him exhale with relief, abandoning the piano for the back row, stretching across the chairs to lie down. Half of 'em will think he's been there all afternoon; he can almost hear a voice that sounds suspiciously like Mercedes saying 'old habits die hard.' Whatever.

Kurt's not the first person in the room, but the reason for that becomes apparent when he hears Rachel talking rapidly to both Kurt and Finn at the same time. He keeps his eyes closed and listens to the various footsteps, quirking his lips upwards when he hears the distinctive click of the boots that Kurt's wearing that day grow closer. Kurt's hand ghosts over his head for a split second before he hears Kurt settle into the seat next to his head.

"I'm jealous," Kurt murmurs. "Schue might not notice you're there for a few moments." Puck snorts as Kurt continues. "But. I brought you coffee."

Puck cracks his eyes open and breathes deeply. "Ohh, beautiful creature," he responds, sitting up and taking the proffered cup from Kurt's hand.

"Hey! Why didn't you bring enough for everyone, Kurt?" Artie asks, rolling into the room.

"Puck asked me earlier," Kurt replies smoothly. "In fact, Puck, here's your change." He pulls a quarter and two pennies out of a pocket in his vest and hands it to Puck, who just blinks at it. Did Kurt _know_ someone would ask?

"Yeah," Puck finally says after a minute. "Insomnia."

Everyone else trickles in and finally Schue bounds in. "Welcome back! Happy New Year." He scans the room and starts a little. "Puck."

"I'll be finished with it in a second," Puck grumbles, wondering why Schue cares if he has some coffee first.

"What? No, no. Your hair."

"Oh." Puck stares at him for a moment. "Right. Yeah."

"No, no, it looks nice," Schue tries to recover, smiling slightly. "So! Destinations. A place where we're going. Who's ready to perform today?"

"I am ready!" Rachel springs up, smile wide on her face. "I chose 'America' from the Broadway musical _West Side Story_ to complete this assignment."

"Great, Rachel, let's hear it."

Rachel carries both parts, doing some kind of little dance step to change her position when she changes parts. It works, even though it's a little odd.

 _I like to be in America!  
O.K. by me in America!   
Ev'rything free in America   
For a small fee in America! _

She beams as she continues; Puck gets the sense that she's practicing audition behavior, if not audition songs.

 _I'll bring a TV to San Juan  
If there's a current to turn on!  
I'll give them new washing machine.  
What have they got there to keep clean?_

"Thank you, Rachel." Schue claps as she finishes. "Excellent job. Who'd like to go next?"

"I would, Mr. Schue," Quinn speaks up, voice low and seemingly calm. Schue nods and Quinn stands, walking to the front of the room as if she hadn't stormed out of the last glee rehearsal of 2011. Yeah, the rest of them had seen her since, but Schue hadn't. "This is by The National," she adds, and Puck frowns a little, trying to decide what song she might be doing, but he has his answer soon enough

 _Someone send a runner  
Through the weather that I'm under  
For the feeling that I lost today  
Someone send a runner  
For the feeling that I lost today_

 _You must be somewhere in London  
You must be loving your life in the rain  
You must be somewhere in London  
Walking Abbey Lane_

Puck likes The National, but he doesn't particularly enjoy Quinn's attempt at their music, and when Quinn finishes, he volunteers to go next.

"Great, Puck. What'd you pick?"

"Uh, The Boss," Puck says with a nod.

"Atlantic City?" Schue guesses.

"No." Puck shakes his head. "Streets of Philadelphia."

"Oh." Schue looks surprised but doesn't say anything else.

 _I was bruised and battered, I couldn't tell what I felt.  
I was unrecognizable to myself.   
I saw my reflection in a window, I didn't know my own face.   
Oh brother are you gonna leave me wastin' away   
On the Streets of Philadelphia._

Puck looks up long enough to see the smile on Kurt's face and the still-puzzled look on Schue's before he moves into the penultimate portion of the song.

 _Ain't no angel gonna greet me.  
It's just you and I my friend.   
My clothes don't fit me no more,   
I walked a thousand miles   
Just to slip this skin._

When Puck finishes the last words and lets the final chord slowly die, there's scattered applause. Puck shrugs as he sits back down and Schue starts to talk. "Great job, Puck. Nice to see a different choice than the obvious from Springsteen." He stops and then grins. "Now, if you are willing indulge me, I thought I might do a song for this assignment, myself."

Puck exchanges a glance with Kurt, who rolls his eyes slightly, and Puck has to stifle a laugh. No one objects, though, so Schue points at Brad and rolls his sleeves up, clearly getting into…. Oh, fuck no. Puck shakes his head. Seriously?

 _On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair_

Puck turns to Kurt, and this time Puck rolls his eyes, Kurt suppressing a giggle. It's not bad, but it's such a cliche, and right after Schue's comments about doing something other than the obvious.

 _You can check-out any time you like  
But you can never leave!_

Schue grins at them disarmingly. "Okay, guys, I think that's it for today. I'll announce a few more assignments tomorrow, and Monday, Puck, let's talk about that doughnut fundraiser."

"Sure thing," Puck nods.

"See you tomorrow!" Schue announces, turning back to the piano to discuss something with Brad.

Mike stands up. "Okay, so. Rachel, Brittany, Puck, Kurt, over here." The four of them walk over to Mike as some of the others start to leave. "We all have auditions, therefore, we need some stress relief. Thursday nights sounded good. Is everyone free?" There are four answering nods, so Mike continues. "What should we do?"

"We could just meet at the Lima Bean," Brittany offers. "At least tonight."

"I like that idea," Rachel nods. "Let's. What time?"

"After dinner?" Puck offers, and they all finally agree on 7:30 or so before heading their separate ways.

Puck's relief at sinking into the Nav is palpable. "So tired, K."

"I know, baby." Kurt slumps into the driver's seat, making no effort to insert the key into the ignition. "Physically, mentally, everything." He sighs. "You sure you want to go out tonight?"

"It's just coffee, right?" Puck shrugs. "Not much work to do yet. I don't really want to study for next week's exams yet, either."

"Ohh, that's right, we don't have to show up on Friday next week." Kurt grins at Puck. "I wonder what we could do with a free morning?"

"I'm sure we can find something," Puck agrees with a laugh.

 

Puck steels himself a little as they approach the Lima Bean. Of any place in Lima, it's the one where he's most careful. Kurt's eyes slide to him, an understanding glance as he holds the door open. Brittany's already there, sitting at a table by herself, and by the time that Puck and Kurt sit down, Rachel and Mike are both waiting on their drinks.

"This was a great idea, Mike," Rachel says as she sits down. "The audition process is _so_ stressful. I'm torn between being glad that there is time before my auditions and wishing they'd come faster to reduce the waiting."

"Faster," Puck offers with a groan. "Two months."

"Oh, I barely have a month," Brittany shares. "I'm not too worried." She shrugs. "I mean, why wouldn't they like my dancing?"

Puck wants to laugh, but another part of him wishes he were even half as confident about his own chances.

"Where are you auditioning again, Britt?" Kurt asks.

"FSU and ISU. They both have dance programs and circuses. I really want to try the circus." She smiles. "I think I like FSU better but either one would be awesome. FSU has a program to spend a semester in New York." She turns to Kurt, even though her eyes cut to Puck for a moment. "I could visit you!"

"That would be nice," Kurt agrees with a smile, nodding.

"Would be awful if I threw an audition?" Mike snorts. He looks at Rachel as he continues. "I know you want Juilliard, but I actually _don't_. My parents just hear 'Juilliard' and think 'the best,' though, so if I get in–they're going to want me to go there."

"Do a piece that's good but not what they're looking for?" Puck suggests with a shrug. "I understand, though."

"That's right, Juilliard has composition, doesn't it?"

"I told Noah he should apply there but he just shakes his head at me every time I bring it up."

"It's like I know I don't want to go there or something," Puck counters teasingly.

"I'm actually somewhat surprised you _do_ , Rachel," Kurt interjects. "It's not the style of singing you've mostly done."

"No," Rachel admits slowly. "But excellent vocal training is excellent vocal training. Though of course I would be happy at NYU."

"One semester of NYU is almost as much as two at Marymount," Kurt points out. "And the average debt load of NYU alumni is one of the highest in the country."

"Is that why you didn't apply?" Mike asks.

"In part," Kurt acknowledges. "The main reason, though, is that at Marymount, I can put off specializing longer. I can take the classes in writing for the stage _and_ drama classes _and_ musical theatre courses." Mike, Rachel, and Brittany all kind of laugh, but Puck just grins. He's heard this before. "Hey," Kurt continues. "What's the use of all that dual enrollment and Advanced Placement stuff if I can't take the classes I actually want to take later on?"

"Good point," Mike concedes.

"What's debt load?" Brittany asks suddenly.

"How many loans you have to take out to pay for school," Puck answers her. "Which is a lot, depending on the school and grants and shit."

"I've applied for several scholarships from outside sources!" Rachel pipes up.

"Yeah, I googled 'scholarships for poor Jews,'" Puck smirks.

"Noah!"

"It's true," he defends himself. "But most of them were too Jewish for me."

"Too _Jewish_?" Mike asks.

"Yeah, like study in Israel or take classes about the Holocaust or something." Puck shrugs. "I eat bacon. Among violating other tenets of more observant Judaism." He smirks slightly at the last.

Kurt tries not to laugh, ducking his head, and Rachel does the same after a few more beats. Mike and Brittany both just look slightly confused.

"Well, unsurprisingly, there aren't exactly tons of atheist scholarships out there," Kurt comments after a moment, which sends all five of them into laughter again. They spend the rest of the evening coming up with increasingly ridiculous ideas to google in the search for scholarship funds, until Puck can't help himself and yawns mid-sentence.

"Tired?" Mike asks, amused.

"I've had insomnia all week," Puck answers, and Kurt gives a minuscule nod as well. Rachel gives them both a sharp look but doesn't say anything, and Mike doesn't appear to notice. "And while I _don't_ have to open tomorrow, sleep does suddenly sound good."

"It is getting late," Kurt agrees, looking at his phone as if he needs the visual confirmation of the time. Puck can see the weariness in him, too, though.

"Yes, we should probably go," Rachel interjects then, smiling slightly.

"Let's go bowling next week!"

"Okay," Mike nods. "Good idea, Brittany." They all stand and clear the table, making their way slowly out of the Lima Bean. The other three peel off to their vehicles, and Puck and Kurt reach the Nav and climb inside.

"Think two days with no naps will work?"

"Maybe."

They're quiet until Kurt pulls up in front of Puck's building, hands clasped. "I'll see you in the morning, then," Kurt says quietly, still clinging to Puck's hand. A few people walk down the street and out of the restaurant next door; workers on their way home, probably.

"You could probably come up for a few minutes."

"If I do, I'll fall asleep," Kurt admits, "and sleep through curfew. So, while tempting, maybe we should save that for later in the semester." He grins. "Not the first week."

Puck laughs. "Yeah, probably." He unlatches the seat belt and leans across the console, brushing their lips together softly. "Good night, blue eyes."

"Good night, baby," Kurt whispers. "Be good."

"I'm always good." Puck climbs out with a final squeeze of Kurt's hand and heads up the stairs, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

 

“All right everyone, let’s talk doughnuts.” Schue points at Puck as soon as the bell rings on Friday morning. Puck shakes his head a little, still sleepier than usual.

“Right. We can buy doughnuts for $3 a dozen and sell them for $.50 or $.75. We might even could charge a dollar.” Puck shrugs. “That’s at least $3 profit per dozen and maybe as much as $9. I think we should just put up a few signs early in the week and do it on a Friday morning. If they don’t all sell, we take ‘em somewhere else.” He stops for a moment. “If we could do it next week, we could take any extras to the game that night.”

“We appreciate the vote of confidence,” Mike nods at Puck.

“I like it!” Schue declares. “Use the money we have to buy the doughnuts?”

“That’s the plan.”

“How much could we make with this?” Tina asks.

“Depends on what we sell them for, I guess,” Puck answers. “I think we can sell one hundred dozen. So that could be $300, could be $900.”

“Cool.” Tina grins.

“If we do it Friday, how are they going to get here?”

“Hey, driving to Columbus and back is one way to relieve stress over auditions,” Puck points out, and Mike laughs.

“Good point.”

“All right, who wants to sing today?”

“I do!” Brittany bounces out of her seat and whispers to Brad before belting out the first line.

 _Sunny day, sweepin’ the clouds away  
On my way to where the air is sweet!_

Puck can’t help his jaw dropping a little. He supposes Sesame Street is a destination of sorts, even if it’s an imaginary one, and Brittany has _fun_ with the song, which is what counts. Right?

“Wow, Brittany, an unusual choice. But fun,” Schue concedes. “Who wants to go next?”

“I will,” Santana offers, standing up and exchanging a smile with Brittany as she sits.

 _I wanna tell you a story  
I wanna tell you about my town_

Santana grins a little as she sings about Boston and its dirty water.

 _Well I love that dirty water  
Oh Boston you’re my home_

“Great job,” Schue applauds with the rest of them. “That works really well with your voice.”

“Thank you,” Santana says, but her smile says ‘I know.’

“Mike and I will go next,” Tina offers as they take their places at the front of the room.

Puck doesn’t recognize the song at first, until the music changes with a loud guitar riff.

 _Boy mercury shooting through every degree  
Oh girl dancing down those dirty and dusty trails  
Take it hip to hip rocking through the wilderness  
Around the world the trip begins with a kiss_

 _Roam if you want to, roam around the world  
Roam if you want to, without wings without wheels  
Roam if you want to, roam around the world   
Roam if you want to, without anything but the love we feel_

Mike sings a very little, mostly dancing while Tina carries the lyrics. Santana and Brittany get up and dance along in front of their chairs after awhile, exchanging a grin with Tina.

“Great choice!” Schue compliments them at the end. “I think we have time for one more performance today.”

“I’ll go,” Kurt offers.

“Great, Kurt.”

Kurt stands up and starts to walk to the front, quirking an eyebrow in Puck’s direction. “Bat-guitar?”

Puck grins. “Sure.” He pauses. “What am I playing?”

“Oh, I think you’ll catch on.”

 _Tom, get your plane ride on time_

Puck suppresses a chuckle and joins in after the first line. Yeah, that’s an easy one.

 _Hey, I've got nothing to do today but smile  
Don-da-darlin' oh don-da-darlin' here I am  
The only living boy in New York_

 _Half of the time we're gone but we don't know where  
We don't know where  
Here I am  
Half of the time we're gone but we don't know where  
We don't know where_

“All right, guys, great job so far. Can’t wait to see what the rest of you have for us on Monday!” Schue grins. “Have a great weekend, and good luck tonight, guys!” He starts to leave, then wheels around. “Next week. Let’s do some songs that use the Bo Diddley Beat, all right? Trios. And the week after, we’re going to revisit our duets competition, but you can choose your partners.” With that, he exits, leaving the twelve of them staring at each other.

“Did I miss something?” Finn asks. “What’s a Bo Diddley Beat?”

“Wikipedia,” Puck states. “We should look it up online.”

“Me and Britt are doing a duet,” Santana states. “Q, you want to be in a trio with us?”

“It’s been a while,” Quinn smiles. “I’d really like that.”

“Mike and I will do a duet,” Tina supplies, “but for the trio, Mercedes, Rachel, you want to do it, the three of us?”

“Sure,” Mercedes grins as Rachel nods. “And Sam and I will do a duet.”

“I guess that I could work with Puck and Kurt if I _have_ to,” Finn mock-whines. “But I’m not doing showtunes,” he adds. “Are there Bo Diddley showtunes?”

“We’ll try to find one for you, dude,” Puck smirks. “That leaves you three,” he adds, gesturing to Sam, Mike, and Artie, who exchange glances and nod.

“Finn, you and I will do a duet of course!” Rachel adds, and Puck exchanges a glance with Kurt. Duets. This could get interesting.

“Well, that leaves me, Quinn, Puck, and Kurt without a duet partner,” Artie says. “Puck? Do you want to work together? We’ve done songs before and they sounded pretty great!”

“I don’t think I can work with Quinn,” Kurt says in an undertone, since Artie’s sitting near Puck and Kurt, and Quinn’s on the other side of the room. “Unless we did ‘What Is This Feeling?’ which I suspect she would object to.” He pauses. “The lyrics include this bit, for example: ‘What is this feeling? Fervid as a flame, Does it have a name? Yes!: Loathing, Unadulterated loathing.’”

Puck snorts, trying hard not to laugh. Artie puts his hand over his mouth, covering a small smile. “Point taken,” he says. “And I assume that Puck and Quinn singing together is equally as uncomfortable?”

“If not moreso,” Kurt agrees. “If you’re comfortable with that...”

“Quinn?” Artie pipes up. “Would you do me the honor of being my duet partner?”

Quinn looks at the small grouping of Artie, Puck, and Kurt, and seems to realize Artie might be the best possible option. “Of course,” she says, putting on her best Cheerio face.

“So you and Puck are going to sing together, Kurt?” Tina asks, and Kurt nods.

Finn’s eyes get really wide and he gives Puck a nervous look. “Uh, yeah,” he says. “Looks like you guys are the only ones left.”

“Don’t worry,” Kurt says lightly. “I’ll find a wonderful showtune for us.” He smirks at Puck, who mock-groans.

“I’d like to see that,” Finn says, shaking his head vigorously in opposition to his words.

Puck laughs. “I’m sure it’s at the top of your list of things to see. Or hear.”

“Dude. Uncool,” Finn mouths with a glare.

The bell rings before Puck can do more than smirk in Finn’s direction, and most of the club heads towards the cafeteria. Puck follows Kurt out to the Nav, discussing lunch quietly. Puck has to admit that he had rather gotten used to not having to go to the dual enrollment classes.

“You’re meeting with that professor today?”

“Yeah, I don’t guess it’ll take too long this first time.” Puck shrugs. “Hopefully this guy will be helpful, anyway.”

“Right,” Kurt nods, smiling slightly.

Puck still isn’t sure what statistical applications means, but he sits through the class before going to the piano class for the first time. It only meets twice a week, Monday and Friday, and he hopes the theory stuff can fit into the Wednesday slot. The professor has him sight-read several pieces and then tells him what to work on for the next week, handing him another book about piano technique and telling him to read the first chapters and practice some of the suggestions.

At least, Puck thinks, this guy seems competent.

The theory professor turns out to be competent, too, but with a little bit of a chip on his shoulder when Puck answers the question about _why_ he wants the focused study. He mutters under his breath about something that Puck can’t quite make out. Still, they agree on Wednesdays at 2, the guy gives him the name of two books to get from amazon, and the ultimate price they agree on isn’t too high.

“How’d it go?” Kurt asks as soon as Puck slogs through the snow back to the Nav.

“Pretty good.” Puck shrugs. “The piano guy is good. The theory guy seems almost pissed about something, but not quite. Whatever; not my problem anyway.”

“No,” Kurt agrees. “We shouldn’t nap, should we?”

Puck sighs. “No, probably not. If we’re down in Dayton all day tomorrow, and we don’t nap today, we might manage to have normal sleep next week.”

“Damn.” Kurt sighs. “Normal sleep isn’t as good, though.”

“No.”

 

By 6:45, Puck and Kurt are in the usual spot in the stands, heavy coats, hats, and gloves under blankets. Rachel, Tina, and Mercedes are squeezed in as well, Artie on the opposite end of the row, and Puck almost feels sorry for the Cheerios given the temperature.

The Bulldogs of Athens start strong with an initial field goal, but then Finn scrambles out of the pocket for a fifteen-yard run, followed up with a completion into the endzone, and the Titans end the first quarter up by four. Rachel’s practically bouncing in her seat with excitement, and Kurt actually pulls the blanket away from her.

“If you’re going to bounce and let the cold air in, get a different blanket,” he grumbles. Rachel makes a face at him and then slides under the edge of Tina’s.

Both the Bulldogs and the Titans score ten points in the second quarter, leaving the score at halftime at 17-13. Beiste looks concerned as she leads the team into the locker room, and then Puck’s pressed into service retrieving coffee and hot dogs for everyone.

Whatever Beiste says in the locker room must work, because the Bulldogs don’t score again, and Finn lead three more drives that result in touchdowns. The final score rests at 38-13, and the stands explode, though the celebration is more muted than the last game. Probably partially because there’s still the state final the next week, but also because it’s so damn cold. Kurt informs them all that it’s 14°F and falling as they walk down the stairs and around to the locker room door.

As the players emerge from the locker room, there’s a chorus of swears and exclamations about the temperature. Finn exits, yelping, “Holy _shit_ , it’s cold out here!” to no one in particular.

“Tell me about it,” Kurt says dryly.

“Well, I feel like my nose and my nuts are gonna freeze and drop off,” Finn answers, good-natured as always. “That descriptive enough?”

“Well, as long as it’s nothing essential.”

Finn shrugs. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, man.”

“That’s what we’re here for. Confidence.”

“Family, dude,” Finn says, grabbing Kurt into a one-armed bear hug. “Always there for you.”

“I bet there’s a song about that,” Puck offers with a smirk.

“There’s a song about everything,” Finn says, with confidence. “Like Kurt says about the singing all the stuff you’re feeling and all that.”

“How we’re all becoming emotionally crippled when it comes to expressing ourselves through any means other than song, you mean?” Kurt laughs. “It’ll be the lasting effect of glee club membership.”

“Socially acceptable means. That can be done in public,” Puck amends.

“Dude,” Finn says, but it’s half-hearted. “Can we go someplace warm? I don’t know how you’re not in a coma, Kurt.”

“Luck. Pure luck.” Kurt shivers in a very dramatic fashion. “Coffee? We could go to the Lima Bean. Or to the cafe near Puck’s.”

“Any place warm,” Finn says. “Where’s Rachel? You seen her? She might wanna go.”

Puck shrugs. “All the girls went in one direction after we got down the stairs. Maybe they’re... you know, I have no clue.”

“You could text her,” Kurt suggests as they start to move towards the parking lot. “She could meet us there.”

Finn nods and pulls out his phone as they head towards the Nav. “How’d it look from the seats?” he asks, sticking his phone back in his pocket.

“Pretty good,” Puck answers. “Nice scramble there in the first quarter.”

“Thanks, man. Way too cold to be on the ground tonight.”

“Why does Ohio do playoffs so late in the year, anyway?” Kurt grouses, unlocking the Nav and climbing in. “Do they want the spectators to turn into chunks of ice?”

“Yes. So they can sell us for people to put in iceboxes. They just forgot to change the dates after you know. Electricity.” Puck grins as he shuts the door and Kurt cranks the heat on. “Cafe?”

“Yes,” Kurt agrees.

“Whatever gets something warm in my belly fast.”

“There’s baklava there, too,” Puck points out as Kurt exits the parking lot.

“And spank-the-pita?” Finn asks.

“Sorry,” Kurt frowns exaggeratedly into the rearview mirror. “No flatbread nor spinach.”

“Worse cafe ever,” Finn pouts.

“The corned beef sandwich is great, though,” Puck offers. “And the chicken gyro.”

Finn just glowers silently from the backseat for the rest of the drive to the cafe and continues to glower until he’s seated and looking at a menu, at which point, he forgets to glower in favor of ordering scones. Puck orders baklava, plus two coffees, and settles his left arm around Kurt’s shoulders, Kurt leaning towards him slightly.

Finn looks at them curiously and keeps glancing back towards the door. He finally says, “Uh, you guys realize you’re all...” he gestures in their direction.

“Yeah, we’re usually the youngest people in here by about twenty years,” Puck snorts. “Why do you think we came here instead of the Lima Bean?”

“Scones?”

“Yes, it was all because of you and your scones,” Kurt agrees, deadpan, then turns to thank the server for their coffee. “Especially since we’re having baklava.”


	3. Shiner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After PFLAG, Dave & Casey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: references to domestic abuse

Dave keeps swearing mentally as he leads Case down the hall, away from the other kids mingling and heading to their first class after lunch. The skin around Casey’s eye is all shades of blue, purple, and black, a little yellow around the edges, and there’s a small cut around the edges. When they reach the lobby outside the auditorium, Dave throws his arm around Casey and tugs him close as they sit down. “Case, what _happened_?”

Casey lets out a tiny noise, like a hitching breath, and then crumples, sobbing, into Dave’s arms. Dave sighs and wraps his other arm around Casey, too, holding him silently while he cries. Casey cries like a small child, messily and without much concern about how he looks or sounds to anyone else. It takes him several long minutes before his sobs become quieter and more spaced out.

“It’s my fault, David,” Casey murmurs into Dave’s shirt. “It’s my own fault. I shouldn’t bother him with stupid stuff. I just ask so many stupid questions all the time.”

“Who, Casey?” Dave asks, even though he has a sinking feeling he already knows the answer. “And your questions and your stuff, they aren’t stupid.”

“No, I can’t tell you, I can’t tell you,” Casey insists, gripping the front of Dave’s shirt fiercely. “It’s not your problem and you gotta stop fixing all my problems all the time.”

“I’m not doin’ a very good job of fixing anything,” Dave points out. “C’mon, Case. Tell me.”

Casey takes a deep breath and holds it for a second, like he’s afraid to let it out. Finally he says, “My dad. I ask him stupid questions. I ask him stuff a guy oughta know and shouldn’t have to ask about.”

“Like what?” Dave asks cautiously. Casey shrugs, so slightly that if Dave weren’t holding him, he would barely have noticed it.

“Guy stuff. You know, manly guy stuff, the kinda stuff I don’t know.”

“Manly guy stuff?” Dave tries to figure out what that means, because Casey can discuss most sports and a little bit about cars even. “Fishing?” he guesses. “Hunting? I’m lost here, Case.”

“My dad likes WWE,” Casey explains to the front of Dave’s shirt, “but they _hurt_ each other. I don’t know why they always have to hurt each other like that, I mean, it’s not real or anything, but they’re always bleeding all over their faces. It makes me feel sick and I asked my dad, I asked, why do they do that? What’s the point?”

“And I take it he didn’t exactly give you an easy answer?”

“Yeah, well, he showed me the point, I guess,” Casey whispers.

“Case...” Dave feels helpless. Casey’s only fifteen; what can he do? “You gotta tell someone. Like Ms. Pillsbury or somebody.”

Casey grips the front of Dave’s shirt even harder. “No! No, David, no, you don’t understand. You don’t know how it is. That’s just gonna make it worse. Please don’t make me tell anybody, David, please?” He starts to shake, hard, his breaths rapid and shallow.

“Shh, shh. Calm down. Calm down, Case. It’s okay. Deep breaths for me, okay?”

Casey nods frantically and tries to take some deep breaths, but as he inhales he starts to choke and begins crying again. “He hates me. He hates me so much and he doesn’t even know I’m gay yet. What’s gonna happen when he does know? What am I gonna _do_ , David?” he sobs.

“I don’t know,” Dave admits. “But you’re gonna be okay. I promise. Can... let’s go see the nurse, okay? Let her put something on that cut. We don’t have to tell her where it came from.”

After another shuddering breath, Casey looks up at Dave with wet, red eyes, doing his best to muster up a brave smile. “Ok,” he sniffles. “Don’t worry. I’m good at not telling where it came from.”

“That doesn’t make me not worry, Case,” Dave says with a shake of his head. “But it’s duly noted.” He stands and pulls Casey up beside him. “And the nurse’ll give you a real pass, not a Puckerman-forged one.”

Casey’s smile is genuine this time and he almost, but not quite, giggles. “I bet Puck’s forged ones are really good, though,” he says. Without seeming to think about it, he slips his hand into Dave’s and squeezes.

“Yeah, probably so,” Dave agrees with a laugh. The bell rings as they head down the hall, and Casey drops Dave’s hand.


End file.
